Saturday, January 24, 2009


My head is full.  

I can not even remember what it was like to be oblivious to the woes of infertility.  Every day, I am reminded that I am in my thirties and not yet a mother.  My friends are parents, my nieces and nephews are parents, my parents are parents, my students are parents.  I am not.  I try to get pregnant.  Nothing.  I try to adopt.  Nothing.

My heart aches for a child.  

I've heard some fellow teachers say that their students are enough children for them to handle.  They say that they don't need their own kids because their students are like their kids.  I can definitely understand that.  As a high school teacher in an urban district, a lot of my energy is sucked from me, er, devoted to the well-being of the 175 adolescents who walk through my classroom door each and every day.  But honestly, that doesn't do it for me.  Those people leave my life - most forever - after a few short months.  

My soul yearns for more.

Yesterday I sat in my classroom after work and sobbed into my hands.  Nothing really sparked the tears.  No one asked me why I don't have kids.  No one inquired about our seemingly stagnant adoption process.  No pregnant student came to me for advice.  Yet, this is what I do.

I just cry.

I cried yesterday because it was after 5:00 pm and I was still working in my classroom.  I had been there for over ten hours - eleven once you factor in my commute - and the only person who honestly knew it was me.  I really never have a reason to go home early.  Granted, "early" in my teacher world means after the American standard eight hour day, but no one would know the difference if I left my job at 3:00 instead of my usual 4:30 or 5:00 or later.  No one is waiting for me at home.  When I finally do make the thirty minute journey to my slice of the world, I unlock the front door to an empty home.   No babies crying, no kids latching onto my legs, no nothing (except for little Nacho begging for a treat, of course).  Just a dark, quiet house that faintly smells of the old people who lived there before us.

I used to be oblivious to this.  Going home was just that - going home.  Now, it seems as though I just go to an empty house.


Anonymous said...

Oh my my...I know this is little consolation but for what it's worth, I cry too. For many of the same reasons. I was at my desk the other night at 6:44pm and cried because I had no reason to go home. I wrote a post the other day about why biscuits make me sad. I hope you'll drop by and read it - I think you might relate.

m said...

Dear Gina, I cry too.

For me, its not so much the going home, its the waking up in the mornings. For all the same reasons. Who would know if I crawled out of bed hours later? Who would care? As a teacher with a long commute, its not like you have that luxury. But I bet you know what I'm talking about.


Emmy said...

I'm so sorry you are going through this. I really hope that the adoption process goes quickly for you.

It is funny how "early" in teacher world is at the end of the contracted day. I hate that!

the Babychaser: said...

The quiet house--every IF couple's heartbreak. I've been lounging around watching TV all day. It's not like there aren't things I could or should be doing, but there's nothing I HAVE to be doing. Most people wouldn't understand why this makes me so sad.

Hang in there. This emptiness can't last forever.

MrsJoyner said...

Im so sorry..Sometimes I feel like a fake offering consolation because we've only been trying for 4mos, but I really do understand. Sometimes, I think about how I should be crying because Im pg and emotional, or having cravings, or when I wake up in the middle of the night, it's not because there's a baby crying, it's because there ISNT. Im so sorry. I believe that after infertility, the child comes not just from your womb, but from your heart and especially from your tears.

Hillary said...

For me, that crying occurs when I'm with our families. Not because there are babies there (there aren't), but because I feel so stuck. We are just a childless married couple. Our family members are getting older. We talk about everyone's health problems, not about the new life coming into our family as we should. I want to create new traditions with my children, not just sit in my parents living room. I can totally relate, and I hope you have a child to come home to very, very soon!!!

(here from ICLW)

Michelle said...

Me too! I know EXACTLY what you are feeling except for the teacher part. I think it would make it harder being around kids all day. Sometimes you just need to cry and thats ok. ((HUGS))

Anonymous said...

I am so sorry, Gina. I love how you describe the house as smelling faintly of old people...our house was the same way. Your house isn't just quiet and dark, it's holding its breath, waiting like you are. I know you probably don't want to hear this, I know I never did, but your adoption isn't stagnant, it's just churning along silently in the background. You are a great couple and it's only a matter of time. Small comfort, I know.

lostintranslation said...

I'm so sorry you have to go through this. It's hell, I remember it all too well. I hope things will change for you soon. (((hugs)))

Nicole said...

Oh, my heart is there with you. I don't have the words to express how much I know how you are feeling. One day at a time...ours is coming.


Melissa said...

I wish you all the best with the adoption process. I understand how you feel about coming home to a childless house. But, as the prev comment said, your time will come. Try to smile and remember one day at a time. It will come!!!! For all of us in one way or another!!!

Melissa said...

I hope 2009 brings you every good thing you've ever wanted


my ex-SIL works as a teacher in a high school in NV and 4 of her co-workers are pregnant, she texts me daily about how hard it is.

Thinking of you & your DH today

Erin said...

Thank you for sharing this. It's so open and real. I cry too, sometimes at the smallest things, sometimes at nothing at all. But the release often makes me feel just a little better. It's our chance to mourn what we long for, our bodies chance to recognize that we're a little broken and need some healing. As sad as it sounds, I do take comfort in knowing that there are people like us around this country that feel what we feel and are willing to share it on these blogs so that we're not so alone.


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