The Hurt

I talked a bit about our first round of battling infertility here that one, it had a happy ending.  His name is Finnegan and he is about the best thing I have ever created {with a healthy dose of DNA from his daddy as well}. 

We waffled about taking the leap to have another one.  People asked.  A lot.  And made assumptions that we were trying, even when we weren't.  We wanted to enjoy every second with Finn, we wanted to be financially ready for the responsibility of another, we wanted to space them enough that they would be friends and not insanely competitive. 

But now, I am older by four years and I thought for sure when we were ready for a second that he or she would arrive in much the same way as Finn did.  We would decide we were ready and start the clomid and numero dos would be here 9 months later.   

But life, it has other plans sometimes.  It's a lesson I am learning daily.  You see, I am not the one who believes patience is a virtue, I am more the control freak who wants things done on her schedule.  We were finally ready, and it would be this year.  It is difficult when life decides to work on its own timeline.  The worst of it, aside from not being pregnant, is practicing what I preach.  The universe knows when the time is right, or if the time is right.  I am learning patience.  I am practicing confidence that my path is on the course it should be.  I know this to be true.  Maybe he or she isn't ready yet, maybe there is something I need to accomplish first, maybe Finnegan needs me to himself a bit longer.  Maybe it isn't meant to be, and that... well, that right there is the possibility that is hardest to swallow.

So, here we are.  I've been through three rounds of clomid with zero result and I am not sure how I feel about persuing something more invasive.  We're exploring options, but I am not willing to send my chances for multiples through the roof nor am I willing to conceive in a test tube.  Just to be clear, it isn't for religious or moral reasons, I just know the limits of what I can personally take and/or put my family through.  It kills me a little inside with each ovarian ultrasound that this is my problem, I am the one failing.  This is harder to admit than I like.  I don't like being the one who fails.  Ever.

The hurt, it is soul crushing some days.  I was in agony when packing away Finnegan's baby things.  He is three, there is no need for rattles and playmats that were stored under his toddler bed.  I kept thinking that someday, someday we would need them again.  Downstairs the crib went.  Clothes packed away.  Should I just get rid of it?  I'm pretty certain that we could finance a vacation if we did.

And with every announcement of a new baby arriving a little piece of me hurts.  Holding the cutest most lovely babies in the world makes me ache.  How much does it suck to say that out loud?  I feel like an asshole because I can not even express to you the happiness I have for my family and friends, it's the little piece that screams, "why not me???" that is hurting.  I try to shut her up, but she is still there, waiting in the wings.  Jealousy.

This man of mine though?  He is unbelievably supportive.  He laughs when I make jokes about being broken and point obnoxiously to my uterus or do the Mary Katherine Gallagher "Barren!" instead of "Superstar!"  He holds me tight when I cry packing baby things away and Finn tells me he's not a baby anymore.  When I was waffling about going to see a specialist or just saying "I'm done," his words to me made every doubt I had dissapate.  Those words?  The parable of the drowning man.  That sometimes the message isn't, "it isn't meant to be."  Sometimes the message is to take the steps one at a time, to help yourself.  So I am, with him by my side.  And just as before, Dave is my strength in all of this.

So maybe send some fertile thoughts or kind words my way?  Right now, I could really use them. 

And maybe quit asking when we're having another or telling people that we're trying, because it sucks to be reminded.  It's even harder when the reminder pops out of the blue and smacks me right in the face. Next time, if you feel the need to discuss my uterus because you feel like gossiping, now you can tell them all of this instead. 

And tomorrow I'll have a really pretty party for you and not a depressing rant about the suck that is INFERTILITY.  {Because in my head it is yelled.}