Sometimes Hubby & I look at each other when we see parents exasperated while shopping with their young children and think, “Thank GOD we don’t have kids.” Or when we’re in a crowded restaurant and we just *happen* to get seated by a screaming baby, Hubby and I might look at each other and say, “Now, why would anyone want to have one of those?”
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Hubby and I make these comments in jest, because in reality we really do wish we could have had a child of our own.
But just because Hubby and I deliberately and consciously made the decision to stop treatment for our Infertility and continue to live our lives with the possibility of not ever having children, it does not mean that we never wanted children. Continue reading “Infertility Myth: Childfree Living”
Since 2009, the last week of April has been designated as National Infertility Awareness Week (NIAW).** That means that yesterday, on Easter Sunday, marked the beginning of a week dedicated to bringing attention and providing much-needed education about the disease of infertility.
My blog has primarily been about my journey through infertility (and now the child-free life I’m living after infertility). Every year during NIAW, I have always found a way to dedicate at least one blog post to help educate my family and friends. Two years ago, it started as one long post that ended up being divided into six daily posts (yes, it was that long).
And last year, RESOLVE partnered with long-time IF blogger, Mel to come up with an overall theme for NIAW. What resulted was Project IF which challenged those IF bloggers to answer the question, “What IF?” My post for 2010, if you’re interested can be found here.
For NIAW 2011, RESOLVE issued another “Call To Action” for IF bloggers. This year, we’ve been asked to properly “Bust an Infertility Myth.” So that’s what I’ll be doing today.
Easter is this weekend. So yes, the Infertile in me has been mentally preparing myself for lots of cute kids dressed up in their Easter Sunday Best. And I’ve been bracing myself for all the shrieks and excitement that any kid would have on such a wondrously child-centric, “It’s Spring! And New Life (aka absolutely adorable newborn babes) is all around us!” holiday.
But this year, I have another reason to keep my emotions at bay. This year Easter happens to fall on my Dad’s birthday. He would have been 68 years old this Sunday.
When I was young, I absolutely hated my name. After all, no one in the late 70’s and early 80’s would ever give their daughter such an old-fashion name … unless, of course she was named after a well-known Catholic saint.
Nanay Emilia, Christmas 2007
Instead I wanted to be a Jenny. Or an Amy. Or … in my more “exotic” name choices (hey, I was 7 or 8 years old at the time!), I wanted to be called Rebecca or Genevieve; with a nickname like Becky or Ginny. I want to say that those two names came out of stories I had read from books I checked out of the library — yes, even then I was a bookworm!
At that time, I didn’t know anybody else with my name. Other than Emily Dickinson, I had never heard of another person — whether real or fiction — that shared my name. Of course now, there are waaay too many Emily’s in the world … but that’s beside the point.
It took until I was in high school until I truly began to love my name. It was different … and it stood out among the sea of other names in high school. Instead of being told I shared the same name as a friend’s grandmother or grand-aunt … I began to hear that I shared the name with their youngest sister or cousin.
But the real reason was because I was a namesake; I loved that I was named after both my grandmothers. My first name came from my paternal grandmother, Emilia (the same person which this little one was named after). And my middle name came from my maternal grandmother and my Mom; a story that was told in this previous post, when my maternal grandmother passed away.
I’ve probably told the story of my love/hate relationship with my name many times over; probably much to the detriment of Hubby, who gets to hear it every time I tell it. But today, there’s reason for me to repeat this story:
Today, the other half of my name; my Nanay Emilia passed away in the Philippines. While she hadn’t been acutely ill — didn’t have any immediately serious health issues — we had been expecting her departure for almost a year now. She’s just had way too many chronic illnesses for so many years.
There are two distinct memories I have of my Nanay Emilia; one of which I will save for another day — a special day. Instead, the memory I want to tell happened during my early grade school years. I can recall walking home from the bus stop after school and being bombarded by the scent of freshly deep-fried dough … you know, the kind that reminds you of elephant ears at a Midway carnival?
When I first got a whiff of that scent, I remember rushing home and throwing the front door open; all while tossing my book bag on the floor. That’s because I knew that Nanay Emilia was making Filipino buñuelos for my brother and me. I remember sitting at the kitchen counter, watching her make them. Then — as soon as they were sufficiently cooled — grabbing them from the plate, rolling them in sugar, and eating them as fast as she was making them. And I remember her smiling the entire time.
Ever since that day, I think of my Nanay whenever I encounter elephant ears at a Midway or freshly fried dough at a Chinese buffet. It reminds me of that day and how much fun we had making buñuelos in our kitchen.
Thanks for the memories, Nanay Emilia. Thanks for the love and the laughs we had together. I can’t imagine watching wrestling on a Saturday morning (back in the 80’s, of course) without you.
Oh and thanks for your nose. Because … Every. Single. One of your grandchildren (and great-grandchildren) have that trait in common with you.
I’ll miss you and love you forever. And I’m sure that Dad — your son — will be there to welcome you with open arms.
This was the last Christmas I spent with Nanay Emilia. She had gone home to live in the Philippines in the Fall of 2008.
I got a speeding ticket this past Saturday. In the past, speeding tickets always came at a time in my life when I literally needed to “slow down.” Except this time, there’s nothing going on in my life that requires me to slow down. So yeah … I’m a little confused. .
Hubby & I went to see 30 Seconds to Mars Saturday evening at one of the smaller venues in Detroit. Going to see them reminded me of how much I wanted to be a rock star back in high school. .
It also reminded me of how old I’m getting if I no longer want to be in the general admission area on the ground floor. You know, where all the crowd-surfing happens. And where you could possibly feel the sweat flying off any of the band members. .
Speaking of which, Jared Leto has — in my opinion — only gotten hotter since his Jordan Catalano days. And seeing that he’s actually MY age, I wonder how he still has all the energy to keep the crowd on their feet the whole night long. .
Met up with a couple of my HS BFF’s on Sunday morning. It was fun to catch up with them and talk about what we’ve been up to lately. .
Jordan Catalano all grown up
Also got to meet one of my HS besties’ 3-yr old son. He reminded me so much of my nephew, Tyler at that age; so precocious and full of energy. And I loved the fact that he wanted us to go home with him..
Still working on taxes, as I type. Well, okay … so Hubby’s working on the taxes while I help file things away. Gotta work on a better system so that we’re not always doing our taxes at the last possible minute. You’d think after 14 years of doing taxes together we’d get our act together. .
And that’s about all the bullet points I can come up with for now. Perhaps I’ll write a more proper post before Easter. Until then, this is all I’ve got.
Hubby & I went to see 