Sometimes I forget that I am supposed to be keeping people updated on my baby situation.
Update: womb still barren.
No, seriously, you guys! Infertility is serious! The serious news is that we are waiting for the right number of days to pass before my babymama can take a test and determine if the second insemination worked or not. So really, this is the lamest update yet because there is no update.
I’m much more nervous this time. B has the date we are supposed to test front and center in his mind, but I purposely have blocked it out, making it fuzzy so I can’t fixate. Because really? Either she already is or already isn’t, so focusing on the date we will know that doesn’t really help biology.
Meanwhile roughly (and this really is just a rough number) 4 out 5 people on my Twitter feed are pregnant. Which is lovely, I really never begrudge anyone the miracle of life. Yet, I do claim the right to tell you in an honest way that IT SUCKS to read about how @chickidon’tevenknow is soooo hungry lol.
Sometimes I catch a hint of this anger, the screaming unjustness of it all, and I have to swallow it back. I was doing some research the other day and one of the books I came across was a prayer book for infertile people, with different questions to ask God. One of them was whether or not God has cursed women who can’t have babies, or if past sin has prevented them from the blessing.
I don’t think I have to tell you how much this pissed me off, but I’m going to go ahead and take a STAB at it.
Everywhere I look there are pregnant people, and I would say that less than forty percent of those people are people equipped to handle a baby. Fucking teenagers, cracked out druggies, people who already have more kids than they can handle, etc. These people are better than me, in God’s eyes? My God doesn’t roll like that, and neither do I.
I’ve done things wrong, I have. I’ve broken a heart. I’ve lied. But I take Starbucks to the road construction crews every winter too, and I always put my shopping cart in the designated return cart area instead of leaving it the parking lot like a total dick. So I really, REALLY would appreciate it Mrs. Judgy McGoderson and her fucking low rent Amazon prayer book would back the shit out of my barren womb.
Ahem. Back to chocking back the anger! Do you see what I mean? Under the surface is this simmer, and I worry, I worry, I worry. I worry that I don’t have the fortitude for this fight. I worry that I am wasting my life fighting. Living in this in between world is not for the faint of heart, it is hard and it is always present, and it is a hollow, knocking feeling, like my heart is a pair of tennis shoes in a dryer.
I always remind myself that things could be worse, and they could. Such terrible things happen every day. But living your life being grateful that your suck is less than the national level of suck is no way to live either.
And since I’m baring my soul here, I’m scared. I’m scared that I will end up like Aunt Glady’s from Home for the Holidays, alone and batshit crazy and a burden to everyone and trying to give away lamp shades. We live in a society where on some level, people believe that there is something wrong with people that don’t have children. That’s just the truth. And I think some women just decide not to fight it, the stigma. They wave a white flag and get a bunch of animals so that they have something to love, and then they slowly retreat out of sight.
And then, the end of this post. In which I tell myself and therefore you that I believe we will have a baby, even if I don’t know how she will get here. If I pray for anything tonight, it won’t be to ask God to forgive me of the sins that caused my infertility, it will be for the courage to wait for the baby that I know is coming. That is how you keep the faith.