I want to preface what I'm about to write with this: I don't wish infertility on anyone. I am genuinely happy for every single woman in my life--and there are eight so far--who have gotten pregnant since we started trying to get pregnant. I've helped throw one a baby shower and visited her in the hospital after her baby was born. I would never, ever wish what I'm going through on anyone else. Ever.
But it doesn't help when I hear that said individual (who I visited in the hospital and helped throw a baby shower for) is already trying for baby #2, when baby #1 is exactly six months old. It's bad enough that I have to endure the constant e-mails about how precious her baby is and how much she LOVES being a mom. Now I know I will see one any day now about her being "blessed" with baby #2.
The kicker in this is that she knows. She knows everything. She was there at the very beginning when Joey and I were diagnosed. Does anyone have any courtesy anymore? Any respect? Don't worry. You don't need to answer that. In reality, we all know the answer. There are people out there who don't understand and never will. Congratulations. I'm so happy it's just so easy for you to decide that you are going to make a baby, right here and right now. Really. It's thrilling.
WHY ME? It's the question each of us ask ourselves over and over again. I feel chained to this infertile identity and the key is on the other side of the room. Sometimes I just wish I could be normal, but really . . . what's the good in wishing? Because when I put my feet back on the ground and get a grasp on reality again, I know that wishing is useless. This is who I am. I will never be normal.