Baby Smiling In Back Seat

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Sometimes, infertility gets me thinking. Obviously, I think excessively already, but sometimes IF raises an issue to which I’d given little thought before.

One of those is my family tree. Specifically, the timing of births, and whether those might be clues to a genetic predisposition to infertility.

Let’s start with me. I am an only child (clue #1), born about five years into my parents’ marriage (clue #2). I didn’t want to be an only child, and when I was about 3 years old I used to beg for a sibling. Usually my parents gave me everything I asked for, but in this case they didn’t oblige. Quite a lonely little girl, I persisted. They ended up telling me that they wanted to have another child but that it wasn’t possible. That was the extent of the age-appropriate explanation. I also got messages about being the only child that they needed. I have no idea which one was more true.

Around age 4 or 5, I distinctly remember someone asking me why I didn’t have any siblings. I replied, “My parents can’t have any more kids.” And they left it alone. See? Almost 30 years ago, I was already talking about infertility, and I was also already shutting down people’s intrusive lines of questioning. In your face, person whose face I don’t remember despite recalling the conversation almost verbatim!

I never got a straight story about my parents’ reproductive difficulties — as in never. In my 20s I asked my mother why they couldn’t have any more children, and she said it had something to do with my father and shut me down. I actually doubt what she says, because I doubt the sophistication of IF diagnosis in the 70s (if a diagnosis was even attempted) and because my mother is a dubious source. She is always keen to blame others, she has a terrible memory, and she usually either flat-out refuses to answer questions or makes up transparently false answers. I’ve never asked my father the same question — too weird. “So, I hear there was a problem with your sperm?” Uh, no.

Moving on. My mother comes from a huge family. The number of children is just shy of double digits. Actually, it is double digits if you include the adopted sibling along with the many biological siblings. The biological children are spread over more than 20 years, but there are almost ten of them, so the spacing checks out. It’s hard to imagine any infertility on that side. No clues there.

My father comes from a big family. Not big as in can’t-remember-everyone’s-name big like my mom’s family, but big enough. Four kids. Spread over almost 20 years (clue #3). With as much as 7 years separating siblings (clue #4). Infertility? Losses? Both? Very suspicious.

It all makes me wonder. Although I have often felt alone throughout these 7 years of infertility, it seems that I may have some ancestral company. My mother’s mind is genuinely a mystery to me, so I find it hard to imagine how she felt waiting for my conception (assuming that it didn’t happen immediately, which seems pretty likely) or how she felt waiting for more children after me. Was she obsessed? Patient? Not paying much attention? My mother doesn’t filter much that she says, but she’s never said a word about her emotions regarding infertility. I guess if you’re going to stay silent about only one thing, infertility is a good choice.

It’s a little easier for me to imagine my grandmother’s experience. Her first child was conceived within the first year of her marriage, so it would seem that secondary infertility (or loss) was the problem. In that era, what must it have been like to watch her siblings keep popping ’em out while she kept waiting and waiting for #2? How did she feel when her teenage daughter got knocked up — disappointed, worried, relieved? How does she feel about having 3 children with multiple offspring and one with an only child (me) — sad, philosophical, guilty? Does she ever wonder about me, her granddaughter who has been married for over a decade yet doesn’t have children? Is she grateful that I’m educated and successful (unlike some of my knocked-up cousins) or fearful that she passed infertility on to me? Examination of the family tree can go in both directions — I wonder if she wonders like I do.

Today’s question:
Has your own experience with infertility and/or loss made you reconsider your family tree?