It's all a tangle, all a tangle

Tentacles. That's what I've been thinking about lately. Tentacles. Those little tentacles that a blastocyst sends into your endometrium to implant to start to receive nourishment. The tentacles of decisions you make over your lifetime. Things that seem to have no or little relationship to other decisions you are making or might one day make. Everything is connected. And for me, everything is a mess.

All of those little tentacles of decisions made long ago have grown through time and entagled themselves around each other into one giant snarl.

Long ago, so far back I can't even remember the actual day, I decided to be a singer. Or maybe I didn't decide it. Maybe it was ordained. I have sung and sung and sung my whole life long. And being an idealist and essentially optimistic, I decided to be a professional singer who wholeheartedly believed that "you can do whatever you set your mind to if you try hard enough". I gleefully abandoned a need for status attached to an impressive job or title or degree. I studied hard and faced the demons of stage-fright and rejection and battled them into submission. I perfected my technique. I learned to take criticism and to learn from it. I became a risk-taker in every conceivable way.

I struggled but I knew that was part of being an artist. I struggled with long periods of time away from my family, with having no financial security, with my own sense of self-worth, with all kinds of religious and moral issues, with overwhelming educational debt, with juggling an insane and ridiculous schedule, with working at a series of day jobs that were to me both boring and sometimes demeaning.

I married. I married late. Not because I was so focused on my career. All through my twenties and early thirties, I kept looking for the man who would be my husband. I was ready to renounce career for marriage if necessary. I fought all of my own emotional insecurities to make a fertile soul for a thriving marriage to grow. And then I met him. And he's not a Christian. Four more years of soul-searching and questioning and nights of sleepless anxiety and three or four break-ups on religious grounds and getting back together and one day changing my mind about everything. And he proposed and I said yes and then we both said yes at the altar.

Oh, did I mention that he's an actor and a singer? I love him. There is no better man for me. And I love his voice. And I love his acting. I married a man whose work makes me swoon. And makes me better at what I do. But did I mention that this is his job? That's right - the same one I have. With all of the same problems. And all of the same NO MONEY.

Ok, I can handle this, right? I've handled lots of other things and I'm still standing up. We can even handle having a baby. Because we have friends who have children. Two parents who are both performers in their late 30s who have children. We're smart. If they can make it work, so can we.

So we start trying. Two months into trying - am I pregnant? I might have been, oh so very briefly. My doctor thinks so. My acupuncturist thinks so. But we'll never really know. Two months after that - BINGO! Very, very pregnant. Obviously pregnant. With Rebecca. Who is now gone. And so we try again. And again, and again, and again. This is not happening. I'm off to the RE.

I've started reading books on infertility and treatment. Apparently having excruciatingly painful periods for 20 years is not normal! Who'd have thunk! It's indicative of endometriosis. Also, taking 18 Advil a day for two days every month for the pain is not so smart. It can cause (drum roll, please!) KIDNEY DISEASE! For which I am being tested. So now we are facing extensive testing, possible surgery, possible IVF, God only knows what all, and we may still not get pregnant. I'm 36 and the clock is ticking.

I know, I'm getting way ahead of myself, but this is my blog and I'm allowed to freak out in it, so deal!

So my little anxiety-ridden brain starts thinking about adoption. I like to know all the options and to be educated on all the pros and cons way before I'm forced into making a decision. I've always been interested in adoption. My grandmother is adopted, as well as my great uncle, my uncle and one of my cousins. I've thought about adopting even if we have lots of our own biological children. Of course, I still want to be pregnant, deliver and raise our own child who shares our genetic material. But that doesn't exclude adoption as far as I'm concerned.

But now all of a sudden adoption might be the only way we have children. And now it's not something we can do if we feel like or not if we don't. It's urgent, it's important, it's STRESSING ME THE HELL OUT. Why? Because apparently there are age limits. Are you freaking kidding me??!!! My adoption clock is ticking, too???!! Apparently, most adoption agencies won't let you adopt above age 40. Ok, so that's four years, but there's also usually a two year wait. Which gives us two years to apply. But we want more than one child. And you have to be married for three years first, which is still a year and a half away. And then there's the cost. It can cost around $10,000 per child to adopt. And we still want to pursue having a biological child, so we still have those costs to think about. And then there's the whole "suitability" factor. My day jobs change almost yearly. My husband bartends when he's not working an acting gig. The very nature of our career choices looks highly unstable to the traditional workforce. To us, it's just a different way to live, no better and no worse, just different. We pay our bills, we are paying off our debt, we have health insurance, we have food and a home in which to live. But how will we look to adoption agencies?

I'm so afraid to get my hopes up. I'm not letting myself think that there is any chance I can get pregnant naturally because the devestation of the arrival of my period is getting too difficult for me to take. I'm afraid of what the tests at the RE will reveal. I'm afraid that we will be rejected by adoption agencies. I am afraid we will be childless. Forever.

Tentacles. All of those decisions for all of those years..... Take Advil for the pain so I can function. Be a professional singer because that is my calling instead of law school so I can look impressive and make money. Wait until I meet the right guy to marry instead of marrying in my twenties when having a baby would have been much easier. Marry the working actor who loves me and treats me with respect and who I love rather than any one of the rich guys I dated from time to time, who could have just written a check for all of this without blinking. Tentacles. Tangles of tentacles that might leave us childless forever.

And none of them are burrowing into any endometrium.

ETA: I do not regret any of the decisions that I have made. I firmly believe that performing, and particularly singing, is my vocation. I am very happy I married the man I married. While I wish that we had met at a younger age or had married sooner after we met, I know that it was not possible. And as much as I blame our delay on my hang-ups, the truth of the matter was that he was not ready to get married at first, either. We did the best we could to create the best kind of life for both of us to flourish. Why the baby piece of the puzzle seems elusive and difficult, I do not know. Why the consequences of the right decisions are so harshly cruel, I do not know. I may never know. Or maybe everything will be okay after all.