When Mother means best

Surprisingly, in my journey to becoming a mother, the relationship that sometimes causes me the most stress is the one with my own mom. I think we have a pretty typical adult mother-daughter relationship: I aim to please and want both independence and her approval, and she just wants what's best for me. That's what moms are supposed to do, right? But sometimes, her efforts don't have the effect I know she's hoping for.

In our very first cycle of trying, long before anyone knew we were, I was on the phone with her one day and mentioned something about due dates because a friend was pregnant. She asked me, "are you pregnant?!" and when I was all, 'pshaw, no,' she said "oh good, I was afraid you were going to tell me you're pregnant." Ouch. Especially since I was currently in the 2WW and hopeful that I was. I, of course, was in the middle of Target with Buddy and got upset and that's just bad. It really stung that my mom would have been afraid, disappointed, upset, whatever to hear I was expecting. Here I was, 28 years old, married with a good career, and far more stable and ready than many expectant moms, and my mom wouldn't have been happy?! That sucked. More than I would have imagined. Since then, I've been fairly guarded with what I tell her, and that's made our relationship feel less close at times.

Originally, we kept TTC completely under wraps, but that only lasted about 8 months, at which point I accidentally let too much slip one night and my mother-in-law overheard and told my mom. Neither my mom nor Buddy's mom ever had trouble getting pregnant, so for my mom to understand all that can go into making a baby - or the low chances each cycle, the need for perfect timing, etc. - is kind of difficult to fathom. Add to that that I'm not comfortable talking bodies and sex with my mother (nor have I ever been) and it can make for a frustrating situation for me, especially since I feel the need to keep some things private. It's hard for me to draw lines without her getting defensive at times.

Infertility has changed things with us even more. I know that she's just trying to be supportive because she knows I'm sad, but I feel smothered some days. I know that as my mom, it's her job to be concerned for me and to show me love and support. However, I also don't know how to ask for space without making her feel bad. She sends me a text every day (which she didn't used to, before all this) to let me know she's thinking of me, which I do appreciate. But (I know, there's a 'but') it always asks how I'm doing. And when I talk to her, it's always "are you okay?" or "how are you doing?" in a suggestive sad tone. The problem? I feel like I can't win with my answer. I have two options: either I tell her truth - that many days I have sadness at some point, or worry - and she tells me I need to be positive or that we don't know anything yet. Basically, that I should cheer the hell up. Or, I say I'm fine, and then she asks "are you sure?" Fudge. Got me. I'm not fine, back to telling the truth. A vicious cycle if there ever was one.

What really gets me is the pity in her voice. If I'm having a good day, it reminds me I have something to be sad about. If I'm already feeling down, it puts me over the edge or makes me even more cranky. Me being cranky plus her being defensive about how she's trying to be thoughtful equals a recipe for disaster.

And yes, I know she's just being my mom. I'm so lucky to have a mom who is loving and supportive and just wants me to know I'm being thought of and worried about. I feel like an ass venting about it, but I've painted myself into a social media corner and I have nowhere else to talk about it. Surely, someone else has had a similar experience too, so maybe I'm just trying to not feel so alone in having this difficulty in my relationship with my mother. If feels downright crappy to feel this way.

Has anyone experienced this with their own mom? Did you talk about it to her? How do I get myself some more breathing room without hurting her feelings?

The Invisible Finish Line

I've often compared trying to conceive as a race with an invisible finish line.

With other events in our lives - like weddings, for instance - there's a finish line. When I planned my wedding, I had a wedding date, and had to plan everything according to that one day. Favors, cakes, dresses, flowers, everything had to be ready according to a schedule in order to be ready to walk down the aisle at 11:30am on October 16th, 2009. That was my finish line. Technically it was the beginning of something new, but it was the end of my planning. The goal of marrying my husband was achieved.

With trying to conceive, the finish line is invisible, a moving target. We have no idea how long we have to run, or how far we have to go. We don't know what the terrain looks like, or what's around the next bend. Some runners have only a short race. Heck, some don't even know they're racing and suddenly find themselves at the finish line. Others of us, like me and my husband, have long races with hurdles and pitfalls. We're running a race with complications, diagnoses, conditions, infertility.

This is the story of our race.