Disclaimer: This post has nothing to do with design. Like, at all. There isn't one image in here. It has to do with life, and all of it's many curveballs. So if you're here solely for interiors porn, please come back tomorrow for regular programming.
Do y'all want to know what sucks the most out of anything that sucks (and there's a lot, let's be honest...)?
Infertility. It is the worst.
I have struggled in my life, nothing huge, just like everyone. The usual. But I have never ever felt as helpless, as little in control, as frustrated as I do these days. I was unsure about writing this post. It is so so personal and I consider myself a very private person (unlike the rest of you San Franciscans who love to tell everyone everything about yo-selves in the first five minutes #stillnotusedtothis #eastcoastblood). However, it's what's going on in my life. It's one of the major things going on in my life, and certainly the most major thing going on inside my head. And I have been nothing short of fall-on-my-knees grateful for the bloggers who have written about their own struggles in this area (Natalie being numero uno) because it makes me feel more normal and gives me hope. So I'm doing it, delving into an extremely personal issue in the hopes that we can all be in this shitty situation together.
Because that's what this really is you guys. A shitty situation. We started trying to get pregnant last July after months and months of me trying to convince Justin that we were ready. He was so not on board for so long. And then, finally, one day, he was. Bless my husbands well-intentioned heart, I will never forget him telling me that he wanted to wait until September to get pregnant so that we would have a summer baby (we both laugh about this to this day). Oh, my. If only.
It's April. April. By his calculation I would be fat and swollen right now, getting ready for a birth in just a few short months. By my calculation I am currently still a solid size two, just picked up a box of tampons from the store and there is not a crib or carseat in sight. 10 months. A short time you say. Everyone says. It can take years. I have friends that tried for a year and a half. I get it. I GET IT. Some people get pregnant on accident (I still believe this is a joke that the big g o d is playing, hilarious, right? ON ACCIDENT!). Some people get pregnant after a year. Some people don't ever get to get pregnant. Ever. The fear that settles around me when I consider the possibility of not being able to ever get pregnant is the most real and visceral fear I have ever had. I sometimes see pregnant women (because, my god, they are everywhere) and stop in my tracks because I have to face the numbing reality that I may never get that.
When you start reading, talking, whatever have you about struggling to make your womb grow a baby many people will tell you many manymanymanymany things. They will give you so much advice you won't even know which direction to turn. They will tell you to have sex five times a day. They will tell you to not have too much sex. You will be told to stop drinking. To drink more. To work out. To not work out too hard. They will tell you, more than anything else, to relax, to stop thinking about it, to let it happen. They will tell you this until you will want to deliver a solid KA*BLAMMO* to the jawline of every person who tells you, and has ever told you, that you need to relax, that it will happen when you stop trying. Ka fucking blammo. Because you know what? When you are fast approaching 35, when you have been wanting to start a family for as long as you can remember, when you finally FINALLY got the guy you were meant to make babies with? Yeah. There is no stopping trying. There isn't a moment of thinking "let's try next year, we are really busy and my career is finally taking off and let's just wait." No. Not happening.
The one thing that they won't tell you, what not one person, article, book will tell you are the many endless ways in which your body will betray you every month. How you will come to hate it for that constant betrayal, how you will loathe it for the mind fuck it delivers during that everlasting ten days before you reach for the tampon box at Walgreens again, one more time, after telling yourself over and over that this is the month that you're not gonna need those tampons. Because this is what happens, I'm going to tell you right here, right now.
You will have pregnancy symptoms. Every single month. You will think they're pregnancy symptoms because PMS symptoms are exactly the same and you will have never ever in your life paid as much attention to how your body is feeling in those days right before you either get your period or find out you are pregnant. You will experience a brand new symptom some months and be one hundred percent convinced you are pregnant...until you aren't. And you will cross that off your list so that next month when you have that same feeling you won't get your hopes up, you will know that it's just a sign of the usual. And then your body will give you another new symptom. It will keep doing this to you over and over and over again. And that's when you will start cursing it. For not doing what you want it to be doing. For not giving you any control. For fighting you over something that you both want and not giving up. Trust me. You will hate it.
It's a sad thing, and it is so very difficult. To have wanted something for so long and to have a man who finally wants it and whose look of sheer happiness when I thought I was pregnant last month crushed me to the core the next day when I wasn't. I have always wanted a big family. It's in my bones, this. And I know now that I will never have that, because it's simply too late, and because despite all of our trying, I still can't grow even one baby. Not even one. Despite the fact that I wake up some mornings and I can feel the weight of all of those little newborns, right there in my arms, I still can't. I'm surprisingly not bitter about it. I have nothing but mad love for all of you ladies out there who are currently pumping out babies like it's no big thing. I don't sit around and wonder why you get to, and I don't. No one is more deserving than anyone else. When I get news that friends are pregnant with their second, or third, I feel joy. And I also feel some sadness and dissolve into tears sometimes, I won't lie. But not always, and it doesn't last too long.
My time will come. I know. My time has always come so far. I have had to wait. It hasn't been easy. But I like to think that when I do finally get what I've been waiting for I get it tenfold, and I get the best I could ever hope for. So I'm not going to stop trying. That's not how I roll. I try. I try HARD. And I'm going to keep trying.