Just so you know, the last thing you should do when you are trying (and
struggling) to conceive a child is go to an indoor play place. Every other woman there was pregnant. The others were holding their tiny babies. The indoor aspect of the play place just means that the air is thin, filled with tiny baby cries and huge toddler cheers. Stifling.
This trying to conceive business fucking sucks. We went to a new doctor last week and the walls were covered with pictures of newborns or large pregnant bellies. I wanted to see fields of heather or a still ocean, not images of what we haven’t been able to obtain…yet.
Through all of these ups and downs and the myriad two week waits, the sunshine has been our boy. When I feel particularly angry or sad about how our process has gone this time around, I try to focus on him. We have a game that we play. S asks him what he is.
“Beautiful!” he shouts
“What is Mama?”
“What am I?” she asks.
This game makes us all laugh, like we are all in on the joke. Unified. So, when I look around at all those straight women with endless supplies of sperm, their bellies swollen with their good fortune, I try to remember that even if we aren’t able to have another child, we are still a team. It is the three of us against the world. We are beautiful, brilliant and ridiculous, all at the same time.
PS. Yes, certain assumption were made about those women at the play place. I certainly know many straight couples who have struggled with infertility. The story works better in my head when I assume those women got pregnant first try when they felt their perfect little eggs release. And yes, I realize it is possible that not all of those women were straight. Again, the assumption they are fuels my anger better.