What is it with this fertility struggle that brings you back to feeling like you are in grade school? As a 34 year old woman, I sometimes can’t believe the thoughts that enter my head when it comes to having a baby. I sit with my two friends, one already has a 2-year-old, the other has just mentioned she and her husband are going to start trying, and the first thought that enters my head is “Oh F#ck, now I’m going to be left out”. It’s reminiscent of not wanting to be last picked for a team, or making sure you have a seat with the girls in the cafeteria. You don’t want to be left out…left behind in life.
The fact that I felt fear of being the only one without a child, well before my friend has even started trying, makes me feel that I have really gone off my rocker. As we sit there and talk yet again about kids, (I suppose the topic will continue to come up when you’re in your mid-thirties), I try my best to hold back cynicism. Sometimes I feel like a fool – sitting there, thinking to myself I’m the only one who can’t have kids. I feel like I shouldn’t be part of the conversation, like I have no business chiming in and faking my smile.
Just before Thanksgiving the girls and I met for dinner. A week in advance I started preparing myself for my friend, we’ll call her ‘P’, to announce that she was pregnant. She is the same friend who over the summer said she and her husband just started trying. I just had a feeling this was coming. As we order martinis, she goes for a ginger ale – this is a girl who drinks martinis whenever we get together, so immediately I knew. She was cute with her announcement, it was very nonchalant, and after the congrats and hugs, the next 40 minutes (which seemed liked hours to me) was filled with baby and pregnancy talk. My other two friends talked about their pregnancies, when they found out, and what it was like, meanwhile, my hands grasped firmly to the bottom of the tabletop; I literally had to keep myself from running out of the restaurant.
I’m sad to say that I couldn’t wait to get out of there. As soon as I got in the cab, the tears swelled. Arriving home, I could not look at my husband – I felt so worthless, ashamed, broken, as if there was something fundamentally wrong with me as a woman. It’s as if we’re waiting on the platform and everyone else is getting on the train while my husband and I are still waiting for our ticket. I wave happily and wish all the soon-to-be moms well, but I wonder, will we ever get to board?
I want to be encouraging and supportive to all my friends, but I’ve noticed these days I have to hold my tongue from “warning” them about waiting too long or putting your career on hold for something that may not come. When I hear them talk about having a second baby by year’s end, immediately I want to warn about secondary infertility, but I don’t. I hold myself back because my story isn’t their story, and chances are, it won’t be God willing.