Books and Babies, Babies and Books

I know, I know, I’ve been away.

Sorry about that.  Life was doing all kind of life-like things.  First things first, I finished my Masters degree.  I am now officially a degreed Librarian. {get it Kermie}

Not more than three days later, I became an EMPLOYED librarian when I was offered a teen services position at a local library. {get it again, Mr.Frog}

And in the midst of all that was Mother’s Day and volunteering and a slew of other busywork.  But if you hang out with me on Facebook or Twitter, then you know I didn’t just leave you hanging.  However, I have been completely void of posting blogs.  Je m’excuse!

As always, I’m also feeling a bit introspective as I embark on this new chapter.

I’ve started to think about how becoming and being a Librarian has helped on this journey.  It may not seem like it right off the bat, but that little library card of mine has been just as much of an advocate and teacher as all these blogs and doctors I’ve been learning from over the past few years.  If you never have before, I implore you to please take a look at the items I place over on the Eggshelf.  There are great stories and resources to be found.  Yet, aside from the research and great books I’ve been able to get my hands on, I’ve also been blessed to learn more about myself and this disease, and yet another thing it tried to steal.

My specialization of study is youth services.  I spend a lot of time reading with and entertaining children, which for someone in my other field (this one in the land of Infertility), could be a problematic or painful job.  Every week, and now every day, I come in contact with these little amazing creatures and I am directly in the line of fire of their energy and beautiful character.  I get cuddles and whisper-secrets and introductions to furry bears and blankies. It is a part of my duty to return smiles, open magical doors, and be a place of comfort and peace.  What an awesome gift it has been for me.  And the second greatest gift has been that I don’t have the option of opting out just because I’m insanely pained that none of their little button noses are my own.

I think that a lot of times,we shy away from things that will make it all too painful.  We don’t want to torture ourselves.  And I can agree that there are times when you do need to take a step back and move at your own pace.  But what a blessing it is to have a gentle reminder that you don’t have to lose everything, to be “ok”.  You don’t have to stop loving the parts of yourself that have been with you since you were young, just because you grew up to find out that every little thing isn’t going to work out the way you want it to.

As I started preparing for my new job, I have to admit that much of my euphoria has lied in the return of my health insurance.  A return to this journey that I had to lay lovingly on the nightstand of my life and pretty much dim the lamp on for about a year now.  Not that I haven’t had great ideas about how to get treated for the great IF, but more so that I was unsure of how to afford to build a family in the grand scheme of things.  Unemployment can really sock it to you in the planning department.  You can figure out all the medical and still feel hopeless because of the remaining details.  Now perhaps I can breathe a little easier and regain some verve.

I was also guilty of letting myself get uncomfortable around the possibility of change.  People wanted me to get excited and motivated, but all I kept feeling was complacent.  I grew very inept at being really present where children were concerned.  I could produce empty smiles and favorable little nuances, but really I had stopped looking AT them.  I would look through them, hoping that our encounters would be brief.  Not because I didn’t like children, but because it was uncomfortable.  But one thing that my professors nailed into us in “library school”, was that working with children demands authenticity.  They can see right through a bag of b.s.  And not only can they tell who doesn’t really want to be bothered with them, but they can also tell who is pretending not to want to be bothered with them.  As I sat at the desk today, watching all the parents come and go with their little ones, I remembered that and grew immediately angry at how quickly infertility had once again moved in to take something natural from me.

There are dozens of things in this world that I love.  Children and story are at the highest ranks of that list.  I’m grateful for a career that lets me love both, openly.  I’m grateful for a rebirth of sorts into being an affectionate and emotionally present caregiver for them.  There have been a few times when I have lost that.

If you walk away from this post with anything, let it be this: If you love children, but have found yourself in a position where being around them has become difficult, take that power BACK from IF.  I know firsthand how it can feel to not even want to hold children, or return their smiles, or look in their directions because the what-if’s and pity parties begin to flood in.  I know what it feels like to try and refocus your attention on the things society says the “childless/child-free” couples should be focusing on.  I know how it feels to think that because you can’t be the you that you thought you would be, that you have to reexamine and redefine yourself.

Even if your world isn’t filled with children in your every day life, I still would like to say, take some time today and find out what infertility has tried to steal from you.  Confidence in yourself, romance in your relationship, or if you’re like me, a peace of mind in terms of children.  Whatever it is that infertility has robbed you of, TAKE IT BACK.

Books and Babies, Babies and Books.   There isn’t a bag big enough for all that I’m reclaiming.

And I thank my career for reminding me of what to grab.