Wishful thinking

 I have been thinking a lot about whether or not to write about this. It makes me feel selfish and guilty and ungrateful. But I can't  be the only one going through this and I am putting it out there because we should be able to talk about the things that no one dares or wants to talk about. Not at baby groups, not at birthday parties, not with other moms, or even with friends. You never know what other people might be going through, it is so difficult to share without accidentally hurting someone. 

We would like to have another baby. I am longing so, so hard to be pregnant again. It is becoming  very difficult to bear, so much it hurts. Scenario number 1: we go to a kids' party and I can't help but notice all the moms with kids Y.'s age are either pregnant or already have a second little one. This also applies to most of the people we know who had a baby at about the same time or even after we did.  Scenario number 2: we go for a stroll to the dunes/woods/the park/a playground and stumble upon plenty of families with more than 1 kid, with an age difference that does not seem higher than 2 years. Scenario number 3: people start discussing post-baby birth-control methods at a Facebook's mom group and suddenly we are not talking about birth control at all. I find myself reading stories about how someone knows at least 5 people who got pregnant while using an IUD and how somebody else's best friend got pregnant while her husband had already had a vasectomy (!!). It is impossible not to feel alienated in face of such an "innocent" conversation, where women are just sharing their experiences about accidentally getting pregnant while trying hard to avoid it. Ah, but you are not like those women. In fact it never occurred to us to even use any form of birth control (other than condoms, for the first 6 months, to allow healing) since the baby was born. We night weaned the baby, we have been tracking my ovulation, and know it is happening, and yet nothing.  We hear of surprise pregnancies and of people conceiving (seemingly) with ease (normal I guess, when there are many parents in our social circle) and I can't help but feeling like an outcast, with no one to talk about it.

We are back where we started, facing again that old witch, infertility. The bitch. She did not really go away. And yet we know we have been blessed. Oh, how much. Even as I write this I feel like I should not be having these feelings at all because our miracle was granted. I am grateful every single day and I feel almost bad, greedy for dreaming of more. And yet we pray and hope and continue to delude ourselves into thinking that it might just happen

Why don't moms stop judging each other? #notmywar

 If there is something I really do not understand it is the judging that goes back and forth among women, and particularly, among moms. This episode brings you the Stay-At-Home versus Working-Mom war of snide comments. Ever since Yu was born, I have sporadically been on the receiving end of such comments.

One of the first friends that visited me, someone I took a class with told me, as I listened in shock:

"Well, it is better for you and for the baby if you work as soon as possible. It is good for your peace of mind and the best for the baby. Also,  the baby will get his germs out of the system earlier."

The key word here being better, because I believe there is no better, I believe there are particular solutions that work for each family and specific situation. Also, was my friend trying to convince herrself of her choice? As for the germs part, yes and no, either she gets them now, or she gets them later. We are not living in a bubble. We go to playgroups, to the library, to swimming class, music class, the health center. We take tramways and buses and walk. The germs are everywhere. She knows them (it is one cold after the other). Also, it's not like I haven't been looking for a job. It's not so easy to get a job, any job. And I do not necessarily believe in working for the sake of working. (And I am very aware we are very lucky / privileged to be able to live on one salary).

Then, there is also the classic:

"I went back to work because I needed to use my brain. Don't you miss the adult conversation? I don't know how you do it, I was not able to spend the day oohing and aahing and singing nursery rhymes". 

No, really? I did not get a brain transplant when Yu was born and I certainly did not stop being a bit of a smart ass. I like having opinions and if we are being all honest here sometimes I have opinions on subjects I have not fully researched and know barely nothing of. I can talk about all kinds of subjects. Even with friends who also happen to be moms the kids are not our only conversation topic. I did not lose my interests in becoming a mom. Sure, carving time out to do things like reading is hard, but it is about making the things you want a priority (and sometimes the dishes suffer while they wait to be washed). Also, when I worked at an office we did not exactly have super interesting adult conversations where we discussed foreign affairs and climate change and strategies for peace in the Middle East. We talked about birthdays, and weekends and holiday plans and life. Also, I don't spend my day oh-ing and ah-ing (though I do sing a lot). I read to the baby, I talk to her about what we are doing, where we are going, I explain things to her and tell her little stories. I do not treat her like she is stupid (Have you seen Dora the Explorer? "-This is a backpack. In the backpack we keep our pencils-". Wow. Unless this programs were designed for alien children who have never seen a backpack in real life I really do not get why babies and small children are referred to in such a condescending tone, as if somehow they were less capable of understanding how and what things are by experiencing them).

And then there is the implication that women who choose to stay at home will not be respected by their kids because they are not working. Wait what? I was taught to respect my parents, not to be all religious here but  respecting your parents is one of the 10 biblical commandments. That is how far in time the tradition of respecting your parents goes back. I hope to be the best version of myself, to be the best model for her and show her the world as I know it, to make possible her development in the best possible way and to let her be her own person. I hope one day she will respect me for it, for the things we do for her. Not because of my professional achievements, whatever great, at least not only, and not mainly.

On the other side of the spectrum you hear a lot that line about how "it is selfish if a mom continues to pursue her professional interests ". And that is also unfair. I can imagine it is always going to be hard to leave your children for the day, be it at daycare or at school. What is true is that children need love and care, and that taking care of children used to be a communal endeavour (where aunts, grandmas and other family or tribe members were involved). The notion of a nuclear, closed family unit where the woman does most of the work is a very new and occidental one.

Not everyone has the privilege to live on one income. Not everyone who would like to work can afford daycare. There are as many situations as there are families and we are all different people. Some can feel "trapped" staying at home, others might thrive and flourish. Some others might not have a choice. The rainbow has many colors and shades and nuances.

Maybe instead of judging each other and bashing each other down we should start asking more questions, like this one from Renegade Mothering: "What would happen if we stopped looking at individual choices of mothers and began focusing on the social and cultural conditions underlying those “choices?”.  (But really, read the whole article)

There is no better. Finding balance is hard, and there are no perfect solutions either. We are all juggling many balls, but we are all trying to do the best possible choice within our possibilities. And that choice can be different for all of us and that is just fine.

What's up with all the added sugar in infant cereals?

The other day, as I was walking through the aisles in a Mexican supermarket, trying to find a baby-cereal to mix with baby Y's fruit I was shocked at the lack of "healthy"options. By healthy I mean free of added sugar. But there I was, reading the labels of the major brands offered for infants: Gerber , Nestum (Nestlé) and Cerelac. I almost lost my sight and I could not believe what I read, but regardless of the fact that the packagings claimed the cereals contained: "no artificial flavours or preservatives"and looked very natural if you were to believe the impression they made, with the brown and beige rustic looking bag, every one of these cereals contained circa 5 grams * of sugar in a 15 gram portion of cereal. What!!! That is 33 % of sugar content. Or, if you want to imagine it in a more graphic way, that is 1 spoon of sugar, per 3 spoons of cereal. I just can not believe this is even allowed by authorities (though I am hardly surprised) but I am even more shocked at the lack of an alternative. **

I am with Jamie Oliver, disappointed, outraged, shocked. I feel,like him, that most of America*** "has been raped by multinantional corporations as they dominate the market with unhealthy products." Coca-Cola products are one thing, and a whole other subject, but these are babies we are talking about. This is the sugar lobbies working hard to perpetuate our sweet teeth, getting us hooked at the earliest possible stages. Again, like Jamie said: "Sugar's definitely the next evil. It's the next tobacco, without doubt". It can potentially "destroy lives, by causing obesity and illness". 

The problem is not sugar per-se, as it is all about learning balance, self-control, and of course, enjoying the pleasures of life (This blog is after all called Poppies and Ice Cream. I love ice-cream. Both the boy and I were nicknamed Cookie Monsters, enough said). The problem is highly-processed products, devoid of the fiber, minerals and other nutrients they originally contained. The problem perhaps most importantly, is the way those products act in our primate brains, the reactions they trigger. Evolution has not caught up with the abundance of food available to to those in most Western societies and so when our bodies find a product so sweet, so highly concentrated in glucose (or other sachharides) they say: "jackpot!", our survival instincts turn up to the max and go into a 'let's-store-all-of this energy-in-preparation-for-those-days-where-food-sources-might-become-scarce' mode. And scarily, our taste buds and brains get used to this highly stimulating products and won't be satisfied with anything else, generating addiction, and a neurological reaction that has been compared to the high of certain drugs. ****

I wish this was not the case. I wish information could be available to everyone. I wish parents were at least offered a choice. It makes me so sad, particularly knowing the alarmingly increasing rates of obesity in Mexico.

*4.8 gr in 15 gr. to be precise

**Unless of course you do what I did, buying regular oatmeal and grinding it in a food processor.

*** (America, the continent)

**** Evidence for sugar addiction: Behavioral and neurochemical effects of intermittent excessive sugar intake. Nicole M. Avena, Pedro Rada, Bartley G, Hoebel. Neurosci Biobehav Rev. 2008; 32(1): 20-39. 

A rant on so-called natural birth.

We're taking classes. Childbirth preparation classes, that is. Yesterday was our first class, and though it mostly went well, I ended up a bit irritated (and had anxious, bad dreams because of it). We are taking this class in part to meet other couples, mostly expats, in a similar situation to ours, and to be well informed and as prepared as we can. The course covers a bit of everything, from the Dutch health care system, to how to register the birth, to breathing, relaxation, the stages of labour, possible medical interventions, breastfeeding, etc...

The first activity was an 'icebreaker' exercise to get to know each other in which we interviewed another couple on basic things like which countries we come from, how long we have been in Holland, if we are planning to give birth at home or at the hospital, if we are being followed by a midwife or a gynaecologist (which is not actually a choice you make, rather a situation that depends on whether or not there are risk factors in the pregnancy), our expectations for birth, if we have thought of using medications...

At some point the teacher made a comment, in a mocking, ironic tone saying how "some people like to say they want a natural birth with painkillers". I tried to shut up, but I could not stop myself from retorting out loud: "but, it is still natural". This "division" and qualification of birth in 'natural' or 'normal' (both words she used at different moments) versus a birth in which pain is managed medically really annoys me, because it implies that if you dare use any pharmacological product you are somehow less valuable, less brave, less a woman??? (And it saddens me to see these discussions all over the place, as if there were camps, as if it was a matter or you're with us or you're the enemy.)

Whatever strategy anyone chooses to cope with labor, whether it is breathing, hypnosis, a hot water tub, gas and air, pethidine or yes, an epidural, if you push the baby out it is a natural birth. I don't see any intrinsic value in enduring pain and I don't think it is something to be particularly glorified or proud of, and specially not something which should be used to make people feel "less" (what?) (But that's just my opinion). Yes, I know my body is perfectly capable of doing this, I trust my body. This does not have to do with that trust, I know there are changes gradually taking place in my body that are preparing me for giving birth. I also know that pain will happen. I know that pain is a very real physiological phenomenon, based on chemistry, and that when my pelvic canal and cervix open and expand I am bound to feel it. I also know that the medical science has ways to counteract pain, and if they are there why should anyone be made to  feel bad about choosing to use them? In the end, it is impossible to predict how things will happen, we can not really plan for (most of) this. So why the harsh judgement and division if sometimes (many times?), it is something we can not control?

Wax model at "La Specola" museum of Zoology and Natural History in Florence

I am not even sure what I want, I know I want to take labor as far as I am able to, I am exercising to strengthen my core, and I want to learn all that I can. I want to be prepared, while acknowledging the unpredictability of the possible outcomes, but I am also very open to the pharmacological options out there. And yes, I will probably want an epidural. I have been there, assisting cows, and they did not seem to be having fun.

I am also thankful of the advances of medicine, and am very well aware that if it were not so, childbirth would still be one of the main causes of death for women or infants. The 19th and 20th century were not so long ago. Sometimes there is not even a choice, and it is thanks to obstetric interventions or surgery that the lives of women and child are preserved.

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Like a commenter (Leela) said in response to this post (aptly named: Ugliest, Beautiful Moment, Or, Fuck Ina May)

"I think the main problem is that many women buy into a fantasy that  labor is somehow a magical, painless experience. This is bunk. Natural labor is awesome, very empowering, and can leave a woman feeling a deep sense of pride and accomplishment. But it fucking hurts, and that’s the way it is. I feel that there is too much emphasis on the mistaken notion that we can have birth without pain. That line of thinking is fear-based. It comes from fear of pain. Pain is part of life. You can’t think yourself into escaping it. You can get the pain medication, or you can embrace the pain. Having done both, I can say that both have value and neither is less than the other. You can’t have birth without pain, but you can have pain without fear, and that is where I wish people would focus their energy, not on some bullshit about having an orgasm while you’re pushing out a human being from a tiny canal full of nerves. That shit hurts! Don’t pretend it doesn’t!"

Forceps, Museum Boerhave in Leiden

Join the movement. Hide in a cave.

I wanted to name this post: "living in a parellel reality". But it's Infertility awareness week and the prompt for people writing about it is 'join the movement'. I don't know why they would choose such a theme, because I would bet no one would ever be going through this by choice. Sometimes I wish I could just hide. Make it all disappear. Make it stop consuming my mind. Infertility can be a very, very dark place. I find myself constantly fighting with it, trying to stop it from controlling my thoughts. I know how easy it is to spiral down if for one second I dare listen to the voices, to wallow and feed the negativity, to dwell on it. Like a dark hole attracts matter, it sucks you and sinks you right in. Going through infertility is like being suspended in time, locked in a glass cage while you see life continue everywhere around you. It is like being in an alternative universe while all the while being submerged in the one everyone else seems to be living in. It is like having bipolar-disease or schizophrenia. Constantly going up (because forcing yourself up is the only way to continue) only to be pushed down, every month.

"Bipolar disorder is a condition in which people go back and forth between periods of a very good or irritable mood and depression. The "mood swings" between mania and depression can be very quick."*

Yes, that would be me. Except I have to fight hard not to peek down the rabbit hole too long, I'm afraid I could stay there, not be able to escape.

Sometimes I wonder if my obsession with fairy tales, quantum physics (black holes!) and mental disease (I had a phase where all I would read were journals and treaties about madness) were preparation for this. I always felt drawn to stories where the characters found a way into another world, starting early with 'Sylvanian families' where every chapter a little kid became really small, went through a tree and ended up in the other side, on a magical world of talking animals. Then I discovered 'The chronicles of Narnia', 'Alice in Wonderland', 'Stardust', 'Hopscotch', 'The Snow Queen',  'The little mermaid'. All stories in where there are two worlds, coexisting amongst each other. That's how infertility feels. Except you are trapped on one side, forced to slowly let go of so many things you wished for, while watching life unfold on the other side. At some point last year there were simultaneously 3 pregnant girls at the office. I remember having to lock myself in the bathroom to cry because I couldn't handle it.

Please, please don't get this wrong. If I have learnt anything by going through this is that every single pregnancy is a miracle, it deserves celebration. I am genuinely able to feel joy for my friends and family who find themselves expecting a baby. I share their happiness. It's just that I have become very good at making myself believe that although our path is different, we will get there. I am kind of an expert at being aware of the good, at staying optimist and positive and at building a protective bubble around me, keeping myself busy and happy. But lately my bubble keeps getting broken and I am faced against the harsh realization that our situation is weird, that we are not the norm, that this path is a lonely, isolated one. I feel left out, robbed of my dreams, wondering how this will all end, wishing for a happy ending that seems further away with every second that passes.

To learn more about the disease click here. To learn about National Infertility awareness week click here. 

*From theNational library of medicine.
**Image found on pinterest (sadly, it doesn't link to the original source).

Woman fail? Choices?

 I am part of a generation that grew up being told that “women can do anything they set themselves up to”. This is the generation that could finally enjoy the fruits (voting, an education, birth control…) of years of struggling and fighting that started with our grandmothers, if not earlier. From grades 5 through 9, I went to an all-girls hardcore catholic school where we were led into believing that we were going to be “agents of change”, that it was our calling to make a difference in the world. We had classes and conferences by empowering role-models, successful, worldly ladies, explaining how women, by their own psychological complexion were ideal candidates to reach the very top of all kinds of businesses and professional roles, as values such as compassion, empathy, connection and our innate ability to communicate were natural to us girls. At the same time we received parallel messages telling us of our important role in the home, how we were meant to be the pillars of our families, how a feminine touch (like leaving flowers by your husbands’ workplace or knowing how to cook a perfect meal, complete with sauce hollandaise) could make the difference in a bad day. How we were to be the rock of our husbands and families. They went on to explain that all of these things were our duty along with other things like managing the household’s budget frugally and efficiently, and yes, emphasizing how our main and most important mission along with all of the above was to procreate and take care of all the children that would be sent to us (those were the words they used!!!). 

Trying to succeed at all of those spheres at the same time sounded contradictory. We might be super girls, smart and funny, tough yet romantic, but I have not yet discovered my own superpowers.  I cannot be in two places at the same time and I certainly don’t have any control over my crazy hormones. There are so many cultural messages, coming from media, literature, our education, telling us what we are supposed to do. If you take a dip in Art history, starting with the earliest civilizations, one of the first pieces that you study are Venus statues. Those big stone women with a huge belly and big breasts, the earliest dating back to 35,000 – 40,000 years ago, were already telling us that our uttermost important role was (and is?) to bring new humans to the planet.  From them on, the role of women in society has very slowly changed, but has, overall been limited to the backstage scenes. Through high-school and university I really enjoyed reading “The Second Sex” by Simone de Beauvoir. Her in depth study about the female condition along time and history is so clear and straight forward that I formed my own ideas and ended up convinced that yes, against all odds, us girls were ready to join Pinky and the Brain and take over the World. 

So what does being a woman mean in 2013? Apparently it means that we can finally “have it all”. When I hear such claims I can only laugh. And when I see women discussing these issues  and tearing each other down because apparently whatever you do it will be wrong,  I can only conclude that we haven’t quite figured it out just yet. It is so sad, this fight between "women”: it seems that whatever choices are made someone will come to tell you how you are not doing it right. And one can only assume that we are all intelligent beings, making the best choices that we can, with the resources, possibilities and information that we have in our hands. We are all just trying to make our best. 

As I go through life being unemployed regardless of the fact that I have two scientific degrees, while, at the same time I struggle with what the medical community refers to as infertility (though I refuse to use that term), I think of my junior-high school days and wonder what I did wrong, and when. If I am to judge myself according to the standards I was taught I am clearly failing in all womanly spheres at the same time. 

And then I read the news and it breaks my heart (not to mention enrages me) to learn that little girls are sometimes not even allowed to be born, and when they are, they are mutilated, they are  forced to work, forced into arranged marriages, are not allowed to study or pursue their dreams, cannot be independent or get positions of power.

It is international woman’s day and I think there is still a fight to be had. We have to fight so that every girl and woman gets the choice to live the life she wants. We have to change the structures in society to ensure that professional success and a family can finally be compatible. And among us girls that have been lucky/blessed enough to enjoy such luxuries as an education, the right to work and develop careers, the choice to have children (or not) to stay at home (or not), to go and work in the world (or to do so from the living room, while dressed in pajamas), to be scientists, lawyers, politicians, doctors, writers, to make a difference… so much kindness is needed. I seriously wish we would just start being nicer to each other, we would stop the judgments, because the beauty of feminism, is that we can *choose* who we want to be.  This fight is not over and we should make it possible for every woman and girl in the planet to be able to make these choices for herself. 

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It's International Women's Day. Over at 'Any Other Woman', there will be a day long extravaganza of posts, where many of us will share views and stories (or art, poems, photos) on what it means to be a Woman, today, in 2013. Head over there, I am sure there will be wisdom galore.

Images via here ,  here and here. 

#January Joy 18: Do some family planning. (Fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum.)

 Hahahahhahahahahahahahaa. Do you hear my ironic laugh? Can I laugh at this prompt for another half an hour?

Ok then. Let's recapitulate. Family planning. Plan a family. Plan. Yeah. Plan. As far as I know, we can only plan things that are under our control am I right? Or can we plan the uncontrollable? And if so, can please someone tell me how? Of course this subject is a little bit sensitive, given our situation.  I started planning a family, in my mind, since I was a little girl, and I decided it was possible, that I was open and ready for it when I was 24, at the time I graduated from my first degree. I hadn't met the boy then yet, so it was not a real possibility. Once that we were together we knew we wanted to start our own little clan pretty much right away. You know how the rest of that story is going. So I guess what I want to say is that you can't plan a family. It's the biggest lie since Santa Claus. It's like human rights. You can say that health is a human right, but some people are just born with awful diseases, what happens to their right then? I never understood that. What I understand is that sh*t happens. And how we deal with it is key.

As you start on the family planning journey, you  decide to throw away your birth control of choice. You  budget. You resolve that you are ready and get in synthony with the universe. From that moment on you jump. And you hope. If you are lucky, you will be within the 75-90% of couples that will get pregnant within a year of unprotected, properly timed intercourse. If you are part (and I certainly hope not) of the 10-25%·* that will struggle, or like us, a member of the 1% , you start watching the World as from a different reality, from some kind of lonely, sad, parallel universe, like mermaids**. You start looking at how life (in the most literal sense of the word) happens to everyone but to you. And you wonder. Why? Really, Why? Did I do anything wrong to deserve this? Is this a sick joke from the Universe? When will it stop?

If there is one lesson I've learnt in trying-to-build-a-family-with-children-land is that you have to be ready to let go of ALL control. Any sensible, honest account of pregnancy will let you know that the biggest shock of all is losing control of your body, or rather, realizing that we do not have any control at all. And what about lovely people that have had to go through the heartbreaking, life shattering event of a miscarriage? If family planning existed, if there was control, these awful things would not happen. We would all be able to keep healthy little babies in our wombs just out of our love and willpower. But Nature is not perfect and Science does not know everything. Letting go of control is the first step in family-planning. Accepting that you're in for the scary, the terrifying, the dreadful. All you can do is hold hands and hope for the best. 

Oddly (and please do not stop reading after I say this), I have been finding comfort in the words of a prayer we used to say everyday, at 12:00 sharp at my hardcore-catholic middle school, the Angelus. These words repeat the answer that Virgin Mary gave to Archangel Gabriel after she heard the news that she would be bearing the son of God in her womb. These words are: Fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum. Be it done unto me according to your word. Hágase en mi según tu palabra. 

There is acceptance in those words, there is letting go. There is a total, a complete, surrender.
And to survive this journey, I have to surrender too, to let it go. Now, whenever I am having a hard moment I think of those words and I let them take over me. It's going with the flow. It is choosing to walk the (hard) path that has been laid in front of us. Taking it one day, one month at a time, hoping for the best, choosing joy.

*(in 10% of all struggling couples (10%)  all the tests appear perfectly fine, so your diagnosis is "unexplained")

** Thanks Luna, for linking to Jiraffe's beautiful text:

"Being submerged, being infertile reminds me of the great Hans Christian Andersen story called The Little Sea Maiden, destined to watch her dreams and desires but always from a great distance, under water or at the surface. For that is how infertility feels to me. I am like a mermaid. It’s not possible for me to walk on land and do things that come naturally to the mortals who are earthbound. Bargains need to be made, lessons learnt, relationships tested in the most severe of ways for me to achieve one dream of happiness. Infertility is a curse. And worse, so often it is a silent curse, one that cannot be revealed to those around us. So those who suffer from it are doubly afflicted. I wish that the mortals happily walking the land could read this story and comprehend its truth. For infertiles are so often at the mercy of fate, of sea witches. And so often, no one knows" 

Last Image source.

For what it's worth.

 Our first IUI cycle didn't work. I don't know if this was to be expected but I sure was hoping for something else. Anyhow, I mostly just want to say that if there is anyone out there who is considering starting treatment and who is as scared as I was , well it was not at all as bad as I thought or imagined it would be. I did not get any of the side effects I  so dreaded. I started with Gonal-F (on a low dose: 75 IU) for the first days of my cycle, that is, from days 3 to 10. The injections did not really hurt, or maybe just a little bit, kind of like when you feel a mosquito is biting you? And then it's over? The boy was the one injecting me and we had a whole little ritual to make it "fun": we would play a song, most frequently my new favorite, "The origin of love", I made sure I was not looking and he would make sure to talk me so I would be distracted. Then we danced a little dance. As for the medical appointments, the biologist in me was fascinated and quite excited to actually see the follicles grow. I was also expecting a "stronger" reaction from my body. I only had 1 dominant follicle, and another one that stopped growing at 14 mm (the aim is to get them to 18-22 mm). But the doctors said it's all normal, and they are cautious as overstimulation is not a good thing either. The trigger shot (hCG) to release the egg was done at the hospital by a very nice nurse, and this is the one shot that hurt. It didn't hurt when it was done, but it left me a painful bruise that lasted 2  days or so. Nothing too bad. As for the IUI, well, it is about as uncomfortable as getting a Pap smear, but you feel it even less as there is no sample to be taken. Then came the hopeful wating phase. Oh yes, those last 14 days I was on progesterone suppositories, which were weird but doable. Again I did not really feel anything unusual. Except, my super regular period came 4 days late, and there we were, almost certain it had happened cause I am NEVER delayed more than a day. I should have known it was normal to be late, but I guess the hope was stronger. What makes it so hard is that you are always hoping for this egg, for this month. If someone would come and tell us, if you just endure this another x times, you will get there. If our odds were cumulative it would be more bearable. But this constant gambling, the uncertainty, is enough to make anyone crazy. It seems to me that the only time hormones really do have an effect on me is when it all comes crashing down, at the end of a cycle, and then I feel like the world is ending, like my faith is dying, like I just can't do it anymore, can't take it any second longer. But then we gather all the pieces and start hoping again. Please, science, do your magic.

Jumping into the unknown

My eyes are red from crying and I feel I have nothing left in me. I just found out that we are going to actually have to use those hormones that we  have been keeping in the fridge for a few weeks, hidden in the bottom drawer. I had been hoping that we would not need to go through this. A part of me really thought we could do it, that this month was the month where I would pee on a stick and see two lines. I had always wanted a Juno moment, and now it has been taken away from me. I called all forces in the Universe to make this happen for us. The religious, the scientific, the supernatural, the rational, the superstitious, the hippie-dippie. I made sure we ate all the good foods. I got vitamin C and Zinc tablets for the boy, Folic Acid for me. I bought sunflower seeds. I lit candles at every church I entered. I touched the weeping pillar at Haghia Sophia, the one that is supposed to heal you and grant you a miracle. I got an eye bracelet and a Holy Spirit (Lord and giver of life) pendant.

We do not have any risk factors, and ironically all the medical tests that can be done have come out basically perfect. We aced all the exams, and still we are here, standing, lost. I've been thinking positive thoughts all along, patiently waiting for our moment. I have meditated, we have "called" our baby, and yet, here I am, with a warm water bag in my belly and an appointment for after tomorrow. We are starting IUI and I am scared as can not be put in words. Scared and sad that this happened to us. I know deep down, that as much as I am afraid, it is a blessing that we are even able to do this, that our insurance will cover it. If this is the path that has been laid in front of us, that is where we'll go. I just hope we'll get through to the other side, and I just really, really hope it will work.

Mara Hoffman and cultural appropriation.

I have been pondering whether or not to write about this for more than a few days, in fact, ever since I saw this beautiful dress on a pinterest board. The more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself that this was something that had to be talked about. After a few mouse clicks I found out that the designer behind the pretty dress was Mara Hoffman and that there is in fact a whole line of clothing with these patterns:  swimsuits, bikinis, coverups, pants...

As a Mexican, I recognized these designs straight away: they come from traditional embroidery works, handmade by the Otomi people, in the small town of Tenango de Doria, Hidalgo (which is also why these textiles are also sometimes referred to as Tenangos). The origin of this specific tradition is neatly summarized in this article, from where I took this excerpt:


"Many motifs common to tenangos are believed to be inspired by the ancient wall paintings found in nearby caves. There are also similarities between tenango embroidered patterns—such as the depiction of plants, animals and natural forces—and the designs found in the cut-bark paper craft known as amate, practiced by Otomí shamans for thousands of years."

The truth is, these textiles represent not only expert craftmanship, but are also a means of cultural expression, a reflection of their particular cosmovision that goes back to times immemorial. We are facing an art form in its own right:

"Tenangos evoke a spirit of magical realism, merging the real and the mythical. They provide a link to their storied past and a gateway to the future, providing a sense of cultural identity and a means of trading on the international stage. Like the collective memory of the Otomí, tenangos, in fiber and filament, preserve and perpetuate the history of the region and the traditions of the Otomí people."

Image by Teyacapan via here

Which is why I was enraged, and could not believe what I was reading when I saw the description of these garments in Mara Hoffman's website simply as: "colorful exotic animal print" or "colorful embroidered animal print". WTF !!! Where is the credit? Is this plain old plagiarism? I understand that fashion can be art, and that in art, inspiration comes from everywhere. But when that is the case, you should name your sources. As it seems, the patterns were just taken, calcated, directly copied. A matter of cultural appropriation in any case:

"cultural appropriation is the adoption of some specific elements of one culture by a different cultural group. It describes acculturation or assimilation, but can imply a negative view towards acculturation from a minority culture by a dominant culture.It can include the introduction of forms of dress or personal adornment, music and art, religion, language, or social behavior. These elements, once removed from their indigenous cultural contexts, can take on meanings that are significantly divergent from, or merely less nuanced than, those they originally held."

I can only hope that the designer will try and mend this, by giving proper credit and perhaps, more importantly, by contributing to the communities from which she stole took her ideas.

 Post edit This same plagiarism was done by Anthropologie, with  their Vanessa Virginia Folk Art Dress (that was soon removed from retail).

Most recently, the Spanish brand Mango also stole took these patterns for a pullover that they simply called "Jersey bordado floral" (no longer available, either).

Gratitude

I have been kind of quiet lately because I want this to be a happy place and if I have to be honest I've been feeling a bit overwhelmed by this sadness in me (I fight hard not to let it win). Between the I-don't have-a-career-and-I'm-not-going-anywhere stuff and the things that I seem to have no control over (no matter what I do, or not do), some days I just feel like a zombie, walking in the dark, with no power to change things and so completely helpless (because I am exhausted from having already tried every option that we've thought of).

wild cute rabbits

So I try to focus on the bright lights, on the moments that truly make life worth it. Like finding wild little bunnies on during one of our walks in the park. Being very much aware that I have the best and most understanding husband ever. Who will pick me up from work on a Friday night and tell me that, surprise, we are staying for the night in the city, have sushi and noodles for dinner, and a perfect breakfast in a french bakery.

 And let's not forget baking, that makes me oh so happy. Like a little child, playing, experimenting, waiting, and hoping, and then tasting and seeing how people enjoy what I've made. So I grasp this moments and I am grateful for these little things, and realize, as it is, how incredibly lucky we are.

The best cheesecake ever, recipe by The celebration girl (and checkout her pretty new blog design too)

On being brave

 The lovely Fiona from Far Far Away, whom I had the luck to meet for the last APW book club has started a new series, "The bravery files" where she asks different people what being brave means to them in real life. She is doing this because (be) 'Brave' is her aim for this year, her mantra. I was honoured when she asked me to write a guest post for this series. I ended up writing about well, hope and some hard stuff. So if you are so inclined, you can find my post over at Far Far Away.

Just keep going

 These days have been tough. I have been extremely tired, and maybe I am having a bit of a mid-life crisis (yeah, because I don't love to be over dramatic, oh no, I don't). It just feels that at 31 I should be doing something with my life and it does not feel like I am on a path to get anywhere. I have spent these last years trying as hard as I can to get somewhere that feels unreachable. I have to fight myself not to let myself become frustrated, lose motivation, lose faith. Somehow (the end of) this post gave me hope. That I should fear not, as hard as it is, all this  is about never stop believing, that it can not all be worth nothing.

 Both images found on pinterest here and here (I was unable to find the original source sorry about that).

Things that shall not be named....

for FEAR of them becoming real. You know, how sometimes, you write stuff and then it happens. I have this irrational belief that as long as I don't say it out loud it is not there, that I can hide it, make it disappear, just like Snow White's dwarfs when they were cleaning.

(Source)

That I can pretend It's not there. I was going to write about it, but I don't dare to. Anyhow, yesterday, clicking through links over at APW, I found this text, thanks to Sarah, Albie's mom  and I thought I would share it. I could relate in more than one way, and somehow it gave me hope.

Welcome to Holland
by Emily Perl Kingsley.

When you’re going to have a baby, it’s like planning a fabulous vacation to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. Michelangelo’s David. Venice. The Cinque Terre. Roma. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It’s all very exciting.

 After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, “Welcome to Holland.”
“Holland?!?” you say. “What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I’m supposed to be in Italy. All my life I’ve dreamed of going to Italy.”

 But there’s been a change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is that they haven’t taken you to a place full of pestilence, famine and disease. It’s just a different place to where you thought you were headed. So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.
It’s just a different place. It’s slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you’ve been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around. And you begin to notice that Holland has windmills. Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts. (and Vermeers)

But still everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy. They are all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say, “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.”
And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away, because the loss of that dream is a very, very significant loss.
But if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things about Holland.

We're struggling, but there are lovely, lovely girls out there that make me think that this situation will change. It is a weird thing, spending 8 years of your life studying Physiology, Biology, Reproduction only to learn you can not control anything. That it is not about knowledge. That there is no switch that you can simply turn on when you so feel like.  I am thinking it is more about magic. And on bad days where I cry, where I want to break things, it feels cruel, it feels like punishment, it feels like I am a failure. And I find it hard to get my faith and my hope back. I know for a fact that every baby is a miracle, that there are no accidents, I know. I know all the things that can happen to a zygote even before it can nest, I know that it is less than 30 % of conceptions that make it to term. Lots of times you conceive and you don't even know it cause the tiny thing disappears before you get your next period. I watch MTV's sixteen and pregnant in awe cause I really don't know how that happened to all those girls. How you can get pregnant from 1 night of drunken sex. Those stories feel like a bad joke to me now, and a mean one at that. Of course you could say I am old (biologically) after all 16 is not the same as 31, and I know that the "ideal" age if your body was to decide is somewhere around 22.  But that can't be it, because I have friends my age and these days Facebook is a baby festival. After all, if a cow under metabolic stress  can get pregnant with half a dose of frozen semen... I should be able to?

Remember clueless?

Well I feel like Alicia Silverstone's friend in that movie right now. The one that gets the full makeover. Of course I have a very personal style, but that means I love colors, patterns, flowers, and everything that's different. I have an interview today (out of my field) and according to everything I read I should wear something like this:

From here

Truth is, I don't own gray clothes. The sky here is already gray thank you very much. I also don't own the other options allowed, which are red* or navy blue or BLACK. Why would one want to dress so sad?  I do not own khaki pants. And the tailored clothes I do own are elegant party dresses. Way too shiny.I get it, it's about being serious, it's about a uniform, but color clothing doesn't make me less serious (though apparently, yes it does).
 *Actually I do own lots of red, but it is all casual dresses
And let's not start on the shoes, because all I own is, again, either this kind of shoe:

Source

or boots, or flat Mary Janes, casual ballerinas and then again fancy party shoes. (you can see some at the end of this post). Way too sparkly, or with open toes, another faux-pas, as I learnt in all these constructive reading I've been up too. It's good that I already did all the preparing and practising with the boy this morning because it seems to me I have to shop for one thing or 2. How superficial. I thought the important part was to be me, to be professional.

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Update: this is the oufit I actually wore:

I never thought it would be easy...

but I didn't expect it to be this hard.

So, this is some kind of letter to the void. Or maybe someone can offer some insight?

 It has been two years since I am in this country. Two years in which I have been repeatedly looking for a job, and if I get one more rejection letter I think I will collapse. Already writing those motivation letters makes me feel a bit sick. In the meantime I haven´t been sitting at home doing nothing. The first summer  I spent here, I did an internship at a small animal clinic. I was happy. I learnt a lot, and I was only excited to realize that I have to learn even more. It became clear that I would need to master the language (this I knew, but it just became evident).

After this first two month internship, I went on to a second internship for a big animal nutrition company. I spent six months living in a farm and I loved it. I had to babysit cows giving birth, take samples on the days prior and after parturition and generally be in the barn which I love. I was also involved in other projects, for instance one that dealt with what kind of tastes cows like better.

It was a good experience, and I wonder if I should have stayed, but the major downside was that it was quite far from the boy and we would only see each other on the weekends (this after being "long-distance" for a year and a half). We were dying to be together. If you see a map of The Netherlands, I was in the South East, very close to the border with Germany, and we are now on the opposite side of the country.

Via Google maps

I had also been waiting for a certain dutch course to start at the university, that would finally allow me to improve my language skills. And so after my appointed 6 months at the farm, I came to live with the boy. I started my language course, and I briefly worked as a volunteer at a small animal clinic again. During these period I had been applying to jobs at clinics, with no luck. So when the opportunity came to work at an international company, in a call-center environment I took it. I stayed there for about 9 months. We were planning our wedding, I was still looking for jobs every day (haven't stopped) and applying all the time, but we realized that I needed more experience to be competitive.

And so I stopped and I started another internship, this time at a laboratory at the Veterinary faculty doing research. The reasoning for this was that since getting a job as a vet was so hard I might as well try in research, since I also have a Biology degree.  As is the situation in all medical professions, there are more doctors than needed, even when there are strict numerus fixus policies in place. The other day we read that for 1 vet that retires, there are 16 young vets waiting or so. So That is where I am now. I have applied to many PhD positions, I have applied within the biomedical, food and pharmaceutical industries. I have applied to clinics, I have applied to technician positions, I have applied to advocacy positions in medical related NGO's and to communication positions in Biological related organizations. None of the above has worked.

 I speak fluently 4 languages, and I understand quite a lot of some others. I have lived in different countries. I have 2 university degrees, from European universities. None of this seems too matter. Sure the positions that would be more "suitable" for me are in the East of the country, where the agricultural activities are concentrated, but it is too far too commute every day. I dream of specializing in Epidemiology/Infectious Disease/Public Health and working within government or international institutions. But I also love the clinic. I am open to the possibilities. What has become clear is that in research, they prefer people who have precisely studied biochemistry or molecular biology (even if I studied all the concepts and am familiar with the techniques). The clinical veterinarian market seems to be oversaturated, we read that even paraveterinarians have trouble finding jobs and internships.

I really do not understand why my profile is not adequate for the industries I have applied to, since they train you anyway, and the knowledge that you require and apply is very basic. And for technical positions, well, they prefer to hire technicians. I have even been rejected for being overqualified, which makes me wonder if getting a PhD would make things even worse, but that's a whole other subject. We have looked "out of the box" too, for example teaching at international schools. But it turns out (and I understand) that for teaching you need a degree on top of the university degree on your field of study. Same goes for working at a daycare. All the positions at the Zoo in the Education department are volunteer-based. I have obviously thought of going back to school, but at this moment of our lives it would be spending money and I want to be able to contribute to our household, plus, sometime soon, we would like to start a family.  The few recruitment agencies specialized in internationally educated people only have openings for marketing and financial related positions, or IT. In the meantime I haven´t stopped taking Dutch classes. I just finished the "advanced" course, and I am starting the next level in September.The language is so hard, that I feel my level is still kind of basic, but I am slowly getting better.

So we are hanging in there, the boy has been very supportive all along, but some days are just too hard. I feel worthless, hopeless, useless. I feel destroyed inside. I feel like I wasted my time for... 9 years at the university, for nothing. I feel like everyone is better, because SOMEONE is getting all those jobs I am applying for. I always thought we should fight for what we want. I was taught that if you do what you love, if you do your best, the opportunities will come, that it was possible to love your job, to do what you like, that you should not limit your dreams. Maybe I am living in fantasy-land. Maybe it is stupid to keep hoping to work in my field of study.

When do I fix a deadline? Until when should I wait? When do I go on and take some office job, unrelated to anything I ever dreamt or wanted. I wish I had a magic ball, I wish I could see the future, I wish someone would tell me when or how this will end. I wish I could know that if I wait long enough I will get there. Or that no matter how long I wait, it won't happen. I do not mind working a "different" job, though there is a part of me that feels it would kill my soul, and I feel like I am dying a bit already. What also scares me of taking an unrelated job, is that that would mean  less experience in my field. It feels like if I do that I would be doomed for my whole (professional) life. But this is real life. This is growing up right? Any thoughts?