If you are friends with me on Facebook- I owe you an apology. Last week- on Father’s Day no less- I posted a photo announcing our twin pregnancy.
This wasn’t the plan. I wasn’t ready to share the news- and as I said in my last post, I have so many conflicting emotions about sharing our news on Facebook at all. However, on Sunday morning, T’s Uncle wrote a three paragraph post on T’s Facebook page congratulating us about the babies on the way, yadda, yadda yadda. And people started to comment and “like” the post.
I was furious. This was OUR news to share when we were ready. The fact that his uncle is old and clueless about life in general, that he didn’t come to our wedding and hasn’t seen T in over 20 years doesn’t make it any better.
Mr. T didn’t mind- he’s been wanting to share the news anyway now that we are past 20 weeks.
As I calmed down, I realized this is T’s life and news too. And even if I have all the guilt and PTSD fears of infertility, this road has been tough on him too. He deserves to have his moment receiving the happy wishes of friends near and far.
After dinner, we went for a walk with E on the beach, where we had rented a house with friends for the weekend. The sun was on its way down over the Pacific (into the clouds as it usually does in the Northwest) and T and E were splashing in the icy waves.
Crouching down, I wrote into the sand: “Twins on the way in October!” and called T and E over, along with an innocent bystander to snap the picture for us.
We went back to the house and I hesitated but finally posted the picture on Facebook, along with a few sweet words about my husband.
I used the word “grateful” but I said nothing about our infertility struggles.
Here’s the thing. Mr. T and I are very open about our infertility struggles with friends, family and people we meet- even strangers on the street. But I don’t think we owe our hundreds of “friends” on Facebook (including ex-boyfriends, ex-girlfriends, 7th grade teachers, past and present co-workers and clients, and hundreds of other random people who scroll through their feeds but don’t really know or care about us) an explanation about the fact that T’s penis can’t make a baby the old-fashioned way.
Among the hundreds of rose-colored Father’s Day posts on Facebook that day, here’s the one I could have written about T:
Happy Father’s Day to a man who knows what it truly takes to be a father:
Who after trying to make a baby without success, went to the infertility clinic for his check-up first, knowing that the diagnostic tests for male infertility are far easier than for women.
Who learned that he would never be able to get his wife pregnant without the high-tech interventions of IVF.
Who had his most private parts cut open in a very painful surgery to extract a few tiny swimmers in hopes of becoming a father one day.
Who was by my side for every single ultrasound and procedure through four rounds of IVF.
Who was terrified of blood and needles, but found the strength to give me every single injection through four rounds of IVF. Including the giant progesterone in oil injection every single day for 12 weeks.
Who comforted me through the losses of our first two hard-won pregnancies. Only revealing how much of our shared pain he carried on his shoulders when he broke down in tears after hearing our baby’s heartbeat at our 8-week ultrasound after IVF 3, explaining that for so long, he had been trying to be strong for me.
Who (if all goes well) will soon be the father of three girls.
Thanks for reading, and for forgiving me (if you can) that I didn’t share the more honest update on Facebook.