Making home for baby

So that is how it feels! 

Now I finally get it. Twenty plus years of gritting teeth as every sister, sister in laws, niece, neighbour, friend, associate, new wives of old lovers, workmates had babies and launched themselves into family life, it has taken until now for me to feel anything beyond that brief pang of envy before wishing others a silent; ‘That is great for them, I hope they are happy…..’ 

For most of these years, I was a lonely single without the resources or the self-faith to attempt parenthood on my own. For the last few years I have lived as an ageing infertile having wildly poor cycle results from five IVF cycles. The only real difference in my feelings about the situations has been the poignance of these last few years. First, I was without child because I was hopelessly single. Now I am destined to not have a family and I have deposited that future squarely at the feet of my beloved Wobbles. It was one thing when I had only my own self to console; it is an entirely different matter now this leaves two people without children. 

Way back there was always the hope I could become a parent if only I could meet someone really decent. Well, I did do that, but in true Lifeslurper style, I was just that bit too late. Now I am grateful to have a gorgeous Wobbles to share baby dreams with, but due to my age, we are classed as infertile. Our chances of success are virtually non-existent, so we are repeatedly told. 

All along, I have reminded myself that others finding partners and having babies did not alter my own destiny – whatever that may be. That there was no quota on love and babies, and just because I worked in all female environments where whoever was pregnant was the sole source of interest did not mean I would not one day have some happiness of my own. Most of the time I managed to live with workplace bias aimed at the working mother and try and not feel deficient because I was not someone’s wife or mother. 

Sometimes I have sort to console my IVF sisters who feel overwhelmed by a world that seems filled with expectant bellies and department store catalogues for baby goods. 

There has been the unconscious thought that being in my forties and attempting these things gives me some advantages. I have been grateful to not be an IVFer in my late twenties or early thirties and going through that time when everyone, EVERYONE starts having babies. Until now, I have thought I was impervious to all of those extra grievances that come to visit the infertiles of this world.

Until now. 

For now, I have experienced that first true stab of anger over the news of another’s blessed event. I have felt anger. I have felt envy. I have felt grief. I have felt like it is all really just too unfair. I have felt things I am not the least bit proud of. I have felt shame about my own actions and thoughts. 

Over twelve months ago Wobbles and I had to find ourselves a new home – quickly. 

It was to be in a new town, some hours away form our old town. After a promise broken more than two years earlier by Wobbles’ employer the move to our preferred city was back on. This time we knew to be cautious. Last time we were finalising the purchasing a new town home only to have the move called off by the organisation indefinitely. The second time around we were dubious, and battle worn from a year of IVF. We decided to rent in the new town for a year while we recovered from relocating, disappointment and uncertainty. Before we would move I would be confirmed as having whooping cough and finally have the illness-delayed laparoscopy would be performed. Written confirmation that the workplace would ultimately back Wobbles’ relocation was eventually received only a matter of weeks before he was expected to be on deck at his new office, making renting our only option. 

We quickly found the rental market in the new town to be highly competitive. Our first day of searching, we attended an ‘open house’ inspection of a property advertised for rent. We were tousled by a maruadaring crowd who had also come along to gawk at the house. A few more visits to disastrous properties sought with the same gusto led us to make a change of plans. Older, with a half decent income we decided to go a little bit more up market to help us leave behind some of the competition. We could also not spare the time and energy to keep travelling all those miles to endlessly view places. 

There were only weeks left before we had to leave Camp Wobbles and find a new home. Rentals were being advertised and snapped up a minimum of four weeks in advance of their becoming available. Worse was the thought that the remaining time included the Christmas and New Year period where here all the world seems to stop. We had to have a well-timed plan to negotiate carpet cleaners, removalists to name just a few in a long line of services that would be needed to get our show on the road. We would put our own house up for rental and rent someone else’s house in another town.

Easy. 

Eventually we tracked down two places in the ideal price range and in close proximity to Wobbles’ new workplace. With a reasonable amount of difficulty we got to see both on the same day and made applications on both properties. Of the two, one was our preferred option. Our favourite was still occupied by its owners. They were relocating to the Middle East for work. They wanted their home lovingly cared for in their absence. This we thought we could do. As the agent showed us through that day we were respectful of the owners’ privacy. I did ask though if I could open the kitchen pantry. Inside I spied a pile of boxes labelled “Gonal-F” which was known to IVFer me as a follicle stimulating hormone (FSH). I was at once entranced and feeling complete solidarity with this couple. My imagination ran away with me. The poor things; failed in IVF they had given up and decided to console themselves with overseas adventures. I felt a good ‘vibe’ about the house. It was the one for us. 

So while Wobbles was on an interstate visit I was left to coordinate applications. The second house was a backup plan to make sure we didn’t lose any more time. On the same day both applications were approved. I immediately informed the second agent that we had been offered another property – I thought it only fair they not waste time too – she hung up in my ear. So that stood as another reason why our choice was sound. We had not minded too much that we had too practically beg to have our kitty Squeak allowed to share house with us. 

Soon after the problems began. The agent for our new Lifeslurper Spa Resort house said the owners wanted to meet with us. Despite being severely pushed for time we felt sufficient pressure to agree. We’d already ticked off another agent, rental places were in short supply, we felt we could not stuff up these plans. We spent a whole day travelling to see these people days before we were to take up our lease. They insisted on seeing the both of us. It felt horribly like we were being checked out. We’d already had to give references and financial information over to the agent. The agent had over the phone quizzed me about my not working; and for the first time I had blurted out our deep dark secret – we were doing IVF. I thought that sounded more ‘normal’ than that I had been ill or that I had problems with depression. All were true. I just thought ‘time off for medical procedures to conceive’ sounded more like something another woman would understand. I secretly thought that should the agent know of the owners’ infertility situation she might see that as an acceptable reason for me to be out of work. We were given a ridiculously pedantic list of rules for the house; how to work the blinds and any given number of things that could have been left in a note or not mentioned at all. 

Days later during the hottest summer on record we had the keys, and a condition report that contained over 120 photos of the property to document its condition at the time of the handover. These included close up shots of the phone book and a spare light globe. I began to feel a weight of expectations. Suddenly our new home started to feel too good for us. Ironically we noted that we had just about been forced to give DNA samples to be worthy of this house, but had not demanded (or even thought of) anything like the same for the person assuming responsibility for the Camp Wobbles we had left behind. With one big push and 12 hours of removalists, Wobbles, Squeak and Lifeslurper were moved into our new home. 

Soon we heard that our first routine inspection would take place at three months, and that our landlords had insisted the agent take photos to email them. I started to feel really violated. Our new home was neither a sanctuary or particularly private. Wobbles and I had separately rented many properties around this big brown land over the decades before we met, but neither of us could recall a situation like this. Days before the inspection we learnt the owners were back in Australia and had decided to exercise their right to attend the inspection as well. Surviving the inspection we started to receive random calls from the agent reminding us to do simple things like water the garden. Our rental agreement included a gardener and a lawn mower man. We had also moved into the city with the highest level of water restrictions for the state existed. Fines for using garden hoses outside of the specified time and day two times a week could run to thousands of dollars. Neighbours were encouraged to report on each other. By now we felt really tired of the whole rental ordeal. By August we made plans to place Camp Wobbles on the improved market with the plan to start the slow climb to home ownership in our new town early in 2010. 

We noted how our own tenant back at Camp Wobbles had been subject to one informal inspection after a full six months, rather than our three months. Our old town agent was not looking like following up with a second. Only after the house was placed on the market did we learn that our tenant had changed the locks without our knowledge – an actual violation of the lease – when an agent from the same organisation visited the address to show potential buyers through the address. It seemed we were being poked with one big real estate stick from all angles. Treated with contempt by our own landlords, our own tenant, and both real estate agents. 

A problem with our Lifeslurper Spa Resort garage door and we made our first ever request to our agent for some maintenance. Return word was that the owners were again ‘back in the country’ and would call to make the necessary repairs. We began to wonder if they had ever left Australia. Days later we received official ‘notice to vacate’ our lease was not over until January, but they wanted their house back and were “happy” to excuse us from the remainder of our contract. ‘Things didn’t work out overseas’ the agent explained even though I didn’t ask for a reason. It felt odd. Something was amiss. 

Wobbles and my big debate became deciding whether to go into another rental property or to buy before we were fully prepared. A massive combined total of house moves between us, and several thousand books to move we had a natural desire to decrease the possibility of needing to move for some time. Our Lifeslurper Spa Resort rental situation had began to serve as the tsunami of all annoying landlords. The decision to pay top-whack and rent a reasonably decent home for a year had backfired. We had long felt unworthy, and now they wanted us out. It was a few days later that I ‘accidentally’ found out that they had become parents just weeks before. That birth day had also been a significant date for us. It was the day that after a week of caring for our much loved kitty, Squeak through her illness, we held her as the veterinarian ended her earthly feline existence through euthanasia. This had marked a new low in the Wobbles/Lifeslurper life together. 

So our landlords had managed to conceive? The dates mean they would have been pregnant only a week or so after handing over the house to us. They would have needed two or three months to feel the pregnancy was safe. Still we were given no indication as to their change of direction. Worse still, the agent made a botched attempt to ‘cover up’ that a baby was involved. I felt betrayed and demeaned by her efforts of subterfuge. Had she decided to ‘protect’ us out of some misguided sense of kindness? It certainly could not have been for reasons of privacy, as there had been no attempt to guard our own details from our landlords.

Suddenly two of the Big Three the main issues of my existence – baby and home – had collided, but not in a good way. 

For the first time in these years of sharing the highs and lows of my IVF sisters I could not feel good about another’s success. All at once that idea that I am united by a commonality with these many women was broken. Although she will never know it, this one ‘cycle sister’ has been the source of some decent aggravation in the last year, and we have had to pay actual funds for the privilege of handing her a large chunk of control in our destiny. Now I am faced with the ugly thought that not all infertiles are soft and kind people, that some are pedantic and controlling. It has been a terrible shock. For the first time I cried – and sobbed and sobbed – at the news of someone else’s happy arrival. In turn I feel a dreadful shame for my thoughts.

Okay, so maybe our landlords were not actually IVFers or even infertile. Bubs might have been a lovely (or not!) surprise. I can’t imagine too many people pack up house and relocate theirselves (and their dogs) overseas on a whim. Point is, they had a baby and we are unlikely to. They have won a competition they didn’t know they were entered into.

Our rushed efforts to try to raise finance to purchase a home have been fraught with difficulties and stress. Buying a home before selling the existing one is not for the faint hearted. We felt we had little choice. Eventually, we got a cautious green light to purchase and so braved the madness that is the competitive market here, in a place where selling agents are so spoilt for interest they don’t feel a need to contact anxious prospective buyers like ourselves when the offers we made were rejected by vendors. 

Eventually we found our perfect house and finally had an offer accepted. Then Camp Wobbles sold. Things were looking up. 

The purchase of the new house is still to be finalised. Days ago the sale of Camp Wobbles fell through in rather dubious circumstances. A new selling agency was brought in overnight and stress levels now stand at a possible all time high here in Wobbles/Lifeslurper World. 

We have only a short time to relocate out to this place which we will soon have no right to be in. Things are very very uncertain…oh and we still do not have a baby of our own. 

Emotionally I stopped enjoying this house months ago. Mess has taken hold. Now I resent making home for someone else’s baby. I have moved on, even though my body still lives here. 

Home has always been extremely important to this Lifeslurper. My greatest wish is that the next place will truly become our home. Maybe it will have room for baby too?