It turns out Christmas cards are the new “we’re pregnant” announcement. I just opened up not one, not two, but three holiday cards tonight from friends, and guess what? They’re pregnant! Babies coming this spring (side note: is every fucking person having a baby this spring?) or summer. I lost it, though frankly, I don’t know why. I knew they were all up next, and honestly, if I was pregnant I’d probably do the same thing, but basically every day when I open the mail, I get to cry over the fact that another friend of ours is having a baby and I’m not. Something I used to love, opening Christmas cards has become something I dread.
I know I should be happy for them — and I am, I truly am. I love them and they deserve to have a happy family, and this is such a blessing and I wouldn’t wish this infertility crap on anyone, and yet, I can’t deal with their happiness because it just reminds me of my pain. That’s the worst part about dealing with infertility. It literally robs you of all joy. it makes it so you dread things like baby showers (which I have this weekend), makes you avoid seeing friends who are on your list of people who might get pregnant soon, and really avoid everyone because you know they’re going to ask or wonder why you aren’t pregnant. James is over two. What are you waiting for? Even if they don’t ask, I know they’ll think it, and I feel so ashamed — and sad that I can’t just be announcing our bundle of joy on our Christmas card this year. I can’t even motivate to send them because it’s just the three of us (and Dakota!), and I know it should make me so happy, but instead, it feels sad to me, because deep down I think there should be more. By now, I thought I’d be thinking about number three, not still wondering if I’d ever have number two. I know that being around friends would be good for me, but the idea of going to Christmas parties and seeing all these happy pregnant bellies and everyone gushing about them is too much for me to even bear. They can all move on with their lives. They can buy houses or bigger apartments, make plans for spring and summer, buy a bigger car to fit the car seats, stress out over childcare. But we’re still stuck in limbo. We’re still stuck in a holding pattern, watching life pass us by while everyone else is able to move forward. It’s not fair. It doesn’t just suck. It’s one of the most devastating things a woman can endure. And it’s unrelenting — there’s never not a reminder of what you don’t yet have, of how your body is failing you, of the fact you maybe waited too long or didn’t eat the right thing or exposed yourself to too many toxins in the environment.
I never thought I’d still be here. When I started this journey, everyone who opened up and shared their struggles had a happy ending. Almost no one had to go to IVF. They all got pregnant in the end. It sucked and it was horrible, but they had a happy ending. A few rounds of Clomid or a few IUIs finally got the job done. But not for us. We’re still waiting on our happy news, and I can’t help but fear that next year, our Christmas card will once again be missing the baby I thought I’d have by now.