I to the N to the Fertility

I have never wanted to write about infertility.

In fact, I'm having quite a bit of trouble getting past that first sentence. I'm sitting here thinking, "I really don't want to be writing about this." And yet, here I am. Wrapped up in a comforter, laptop open, preparing to express the biggest frustration in my life right now to anyone who will read it. In simple terms: I really really want to have another baby.

Before now, writing about infertility seemed almost superfluous. There are forums, blogs, and entire communities dedicated to that one subject alone. What could I possibly have to add? Plus—and this is a big plus—I already have a baby. Doesn't already having a baby make my infertility less, um, legitimate? Shouldn't I be able to hug and kiss my Z-cakes and be happy that I have her without wishing for more?

But still, I wish. And so, I write. I write knowing that my experience will be similar yours while being completely different from yours. Hopefully these words will bring some comfort to someone, even if it is only me.

I was ready to be pregnant again almost two years ago. Z-cakes was turning one and I was intensely in love with being a mother. I wanted dozens of kids. Gobs and gobs of kids. Three or four kids. More than one at least. I hoped that now that I had been pregnant once my body would be able to figure out how things worked and that I would be able to get pregnant naturally this time around. After two years, no dice. No pink plus sign.

To get pregnant with Z-cakes, N8tr0n and I went to a reproductive endocrinologist. I had been diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome and after doing some research on the internet (which we all know is a really bad idea, right?) I was trying to manage my expectations. When I got pregnant after one round of Clomid I wanted to kiss that doctor right on the mouth. How could it have been that easy? I spent nine months being one of those annoying girls who really enjoys being pregnant, lived through one "major abdominal surgery," and became a mother. I refused to entertain the thought of infertility issues for subsequent pregnancies. I was living in the moment and would deal with that struggle when it came.

Unfortunately that struggle came, and it is here now. Of course not every day is a struggle. Sometimes months can pass where my heart doesn't ache for a baby and I have faith that our family will grow in time. During those months I knit baby booties for my giant list of pregnant friends. I laugh (without faking it) and joke about Z-cakes needing a sibling. I read birth stories on blogs. I embrace the ease of having one child who is slowly coming more and more self sufficient. On a good day, I am completely unfazed by questions about how many kids we want or when we plan on having another. I happily chat with people about infertility and answer questions about PCOS, and I don't even feel sorry for myself afterward.

And then, there are the other times. The times when I just want to hang my head and cry. The times when an innocent comment like, "is she your one and only?" can leave me cranky and teary for the rest of the day. It's during those times that I stop rolling out the baby gifts. I stop writing congratulatory emails for new arrivals. I cry watching Z-cakes play outside by herself. I unsubscribe to blogs because she is pregnant again and I just can't. I can't keep reading. I'll check back in nine months. Or two years. Or when I'm pregnant too. The jealousy that I feel during those times is more painful than anything else. I find that I am also full of fear. Fear that we might never have another baby. Fear that we will spend years and years trying, and that I'm not appreciating what I have because I'm so focused on what I want.

I rise up out of these slumps through the help of my family and my faith. And when I say family, I mean my immediate family. N8tr0n is the only person in the world who can say whatever he wants about babies, fertility, pregnancy and general procreation without having me lose it completely. How does he always make me laugh when he says, "hey, we should have another baby!" as if it has never occurred to either of us before? Z-cakes is my sunshine, and I find it impossible to worry about infertility when I'm snuggled up on the couch with her. My faith is what carries me from the depression of infertility to the lightness of hope. And when I kneel to pray I only rarely ask to have a baby. It feels a bit redundant, and I'm pretty sure God knows that's what I want. Instead I pray that the jealousy and fear that has a tight grip on my heart can be lifted. That I might be able to feel and express the love and excitement I have for my expecting friends. That I might find joy in our present instead of worrying about our future.

I said that I've never wanted to write about infertility and I meant it. It is not a fun subject to write about. I don't enjoy worrying my family, because I know many of them read this blog. I don't like to look like a jealous person or complain too much about my personal life. I hardly think that I can eloquently portray the heartache infertility can bring. But when a topic nags at me long enough, I have to give in and write about it. I have left out a lot of details. I don't plan to make a habit out of writing about our struggles. But I believe in the healing power of writing, and I believe in reaching out to others through my blog. If you need to talk to somebody about how infertility sucks, I'm happy to be that somebody.

I am abundantly blessed with a loving family and friends who care about me. I know that our family will grow in its own way whether we end up having dozens of kids or not. I am striving to bring myself out of each slump as a stronger woman, a more loving mother, and a more compassionate human. I will continue to trust in God and I will be truly happy, no matter what.

XOXO