For those of you keeping score at home, yes, it is 4:00 in the morning again.
My last post was a long-winded lead-up to the talk my husband and I had last night. It started out being about my job; my husband thinks my job is the root of all my problems, and he is constantly trying to get me to march into my boss’s office and tell her where to go. Unfortunately if I were to do that, neither one of us would have a job and we would be on the express train to living in my mother’s spare room.
And no one wants that.
Anyway, he sees me tired, frustrated, and literally sick with worry, and he figures I should solve the problem by just quitting. But that wouldn’t do it. It would be moving in the opposite direction of my uncle’s fantastic advice to “put family first.” Regardless of the obvious idiocy of quitting the only job in the household, it would put us even farther away from the possibility of parenthood. We went back and forth on this for a while last night — he says he can’t stand to see me like this, I say I can’t imagine how much worse I would be if I didn’t know where the rent money was coming from.
He asks how he can help me feel better; I tell him that the number one thing he can do is try to find work.
He tells me he feels like I don’t want to spend time with him; my heart breaks a little because it’s so, so not true. We both agree that the last six months have been very, very bad for our relationship and we can’t keep going like this.
He says he’ll find a job and then I can quit without worrying.
Yes, that’s exactly the idea.
I tell him about my secret plan, which I haven’t mentioned to him at all before because I was afraid of his reaction.
In my secret plan, I expand my neverending job search outside of our current city. He does the same. In the ultra top-secret version that I don’t even let myself think about too often, we both actually find jobs and move to Chicago.
Alert readers may or may not be aware that Chicago is in fact located in Illinois, which is one of the magical states that mandates insurance coverage for infertility treatment. (Do they really exist?)
My plan has been a secret for a while now because I haven’t wanted him to feel pressured. This spring his priority, and by extension our family priority, has been getting him through his degree. He did it, and I’m so proud of him. But now it’s time to put family first.
Becoming a parent is definitely at the top of my emotional list, but we haven’t done a goddamn thing about it since we got the bad news from the urologist last fall. And as you may or may not know, I am in fact getting older every single day! Sometimes I think I can actually feel my eggs aging. We can’t fuck around for another three years (has it really been three years?). There can be no more “wait and see if it happens.”
My husband acknowledged for the first time last night that IVF/ICSI really is what we will need to do to get me pregnant. He has been extremely optimistic so far, thinking if we just keep trying it will happen naturally, but I think he’s starting to see just how long we’ve been trying and how well that’s (not) working for us. As for me, I’ve been working through my issues with IVF, and while I still viscerally don’t want to do it, I think it would be much, much worse never to try and to be eighty years old wondering if that would have been the golden ticket.
So I trotted out the secret plan.
I was very, very nervous about telling him because I know he has strong ties to our current city and I didn’t know how willing he would be to make active plans to leave. He has really found a place for himself here as an artist, and I don’t ever want him to feel like I am trying to take that away from him. But he can see how unhappy I am, and have been now for what seems like forever, and he did ask me what he could do to help.
He said he would be willing to move, provided we were able to find work, of course.
So as soon as I get back from the festival I’m doing in a couple of weeks, I’m going to expand my neverending job search, and he will hopefully do the same, effective immediately. Unfortunately I am just about the least-employable person imaginable, so I have no illusions that we will actually succeed at this.
But at least we will have tried.