Thanksgiving: Let's Talk Turkey

Quick Note: My eBook is now (finally, mercifully) in paperback. The regular price is $9.99 USD but the new launch price through November is $8.49 (and of course free shipping for Amazon Prime.) The eBook is also on sale this month. Usually $4.99/now $3.99.



(Contact me directly for orders of 5 books or more-I'll hook ya up.)


It happens every year. The first cool breeze wafts through the air and with it comes the smell of panic from infertile people everywhere. Everyone anticipates the holidays. Many think: Family! Food! Football! Infertile folk also think: Interrogations! 

Soon Thanksgiving will be upon those of us in the U.S. and it's all downhill from there. That pain in the pit of our stomachs is 1/3 too much turkey, 1/3 funny tasting green bean casserole that we knew was a bad idea from the start... & 1/3 dread. Whether it be before dinner is served at 1:30, or during the meal... it's coming... we know it's coming:

"Speaking of kids... Why don't you have any yet?"

Any reasonable person would know that 1) there's likely no easy answer to this question and 2) the answer, whatever it is,  is none of their business, but we're not dealing with reasonable people.

"Aren't you trying?" (wink wink to the husband)

"You shouldn't be waiting so long. I mean, you know it's harder to get pregnant as you get older." (Knowing glare at the wife)

"How long have you guys been married? Oh, we had three kids by the time we were married that long."

And then the fricken infertility poker game starts with each person trying to up the ante. "I have a friend who had twins at 40"

"I have a neighbor whose daughter had triplets at 42."

"I read about this woman in India who had quadruplets at 51."

"Remember the octomom?"

"John Travolta's wife had a baby at 61 or was it 49?"

"Isn't he married to Kelly Clarkson?"

Luckily most of the time, you don't have to answer or even speak at all. These Thanksgiving think tanks usually run out of intellectual gas pretty quickly and simmer into a sea of stupidity.

And even worse than the family gatherings where everyone grills you like a cheese sandwich, are the ones where nobody even mentions your "situation". They all just look around and pretend they're not wondering what the deal is and you become the giant elephant in the room.

It was so much nicer in past years when others were the elephant in the room.

"Hmmm. I wonder why Uncle John didn't come this year? I'm not going to be the one to ask Aunt Celia. I'll wait until tomorrow morning and call Mom. She's bound to have found out something by then."

"Hmmm. Who's this guy Jef that cousin Susan's with? What happened to Mike that she was living with? Why am I spelling Jef's name with only one 'f'? He just seems like a "one-f-er". My sister Beth's roommate used to be in a band with Mike's sister. I'll bet she'll know what happened. I'll duck into the bathroom and call her on my cell phone."

So this year's your year. Once all the small talk has died down about how the traffic was and gas prices and "you know who I ran into last week?" and the lies about how nice her new haircut looks and how much weight we've all lost and how thank goodness she brought that green bean casserole because I look forward to seeing it every year (seeing it, not eating it mind you), then you can almost hear the thoughts shift their focus onto you and your "problem".

The key is: You must never ever leave the room. They can't talk behind your back if your back is always in front of them. You must be the last one to leave the festivities otherwise they'll dig into you before you're even off the driveway. Don't give them the satisfaction. Linger. Any excuse will do.

"Can I wash some dishes?"

"They're paper plates."

"What about the pots?"

"Aluminum foil"

"Okay, so I'll carry out the garbage."

"Well if you really want to. You can put it in the can out back."

"Nice try.... But I think I'll just sit it over the corner of the living room, by the door... until we're ready to go... which we're not quite ready to do yet."

Putting trash in its place. It's what these holidays are really all about. B'dum bum.