infertility n. Absent or diminished fertility. The persistent inability to conceive a child.
I’m not sure why I’m writing this here. Maybe I feel like I don’t have anywhere else to write it. Or anyone to share it with who hasn’t heard it all before and is probably sick of me perseverating on it. I try so hard not to. I try to push it out of my head.
I try to convince myself that I don’t want children, that children are annoying, that children are too much work and cost too much money and that my partner doesn’t want children anyway. None of it works.
Everyone I know is growing up and having children. My Facebook is over run with ultrasound pictures, photos of the baby bump, and threads full of beats about gender or due date.
I’ve wanted to be a mom for my entire life, for as long as I can remember. I have an amazing relationship with my own mom. I love her more than anything in the world, And I will probably never have the opportunity to be on the other end of that relationship.
Three and a half years ago I got pregnant. We got excited. I made an appointment with a midwife. At 11 weeks I found out that the baby was already dead inside of me. I was poked and probed and prodded and no heart beat ever showed up on the monitor while they invaded my most private parts with a cold, plastic wand. My body refused to “dispose of the products of conception.” I had the choice between having my insides scraped out in a sterile hospital room or taking pills to induce labor in my own home. It hurt. They gave me vicodin to help with the pain. After hours and hours of cramping, I sat on a toilet at my house and blood and tissue came out of my in clumps.
We actively tried to conceive again for awhile with no luck. It was really stressful. Then we stopped trying. Then we broke up. Then we got back together. He didn’t want kids, then he did, then he didn’t. Or something. But, I can’t make babies and I certainly can’t keep them alive. And if he doesn’t want them, then it’s a non-issue right?
Then why, three and half years later am I still sad and angry and jealous at anyone having babies? Does that make me a bad person? Will I ever be okay not being a mother, not being a grandmother?
Fuck.
