Today kicks off the start of National Infertility Awareness Week through the support and advocacy of Resolve. Join the movement and spread the word. Don't suffer in silence and don't settle. Not all pathways to parenthood are achievable, but there IS a pathway out there for you to be happy. Find your happy, for some that means making their baby, for others it means finding their baby, and for still others, it means choosing to close those doors forever. But, please find your happy.
In years past I referenced NIAW with blog posts and fb statuses about the longing to become a parent. This year, I'm on the other side. Some would say, that I've been cured of my infertility.
But have I been cured?
The cure for infertility is a baby, right? Little Slick is my baby, for sure and has definitely been the one to find the missing pieces of my heart. I don’t question that.
But am I cured?
The answer is no, I’m not cured. I’m still infertile. It still hurts me that I’ll never be pregnant. It hurts me more than anything in the world that I missed out on those things with Little Slick. It stings when I get an unexpected pregnancy announcement - especially since those unexpected ones always seem to proclaim, “We weren’t even trying!” or “This one better be a girl, I already have 3 boys!”
It hurts when friends and family seem to forget and talk with me about how much they miss their pregnant bellies and the newborn stage with their babies. It hurts me when people absentmindedly ask me things like, “When will you have another?” or “I bet he’s ready to be a big brother!”
Those things won’t come easy or at all for someone like me.
I don’t bear birth battle scars and stories. In the mothering world I am inferior in that aspect (some of you will be kind here and adamantly proclaim that’s false, but you are incorrect). I don’t remember that “newborn smell” or know what it’s like for him to look lovingly into my eyes while nursing, to which I sometimes want to yell, “Thanks so much for reminding me!” Someone else experienced those things with my baby. Someone who is a world away and I’ll never know.
I can't sanctimoniously post pictures like this on my Facebook wall.
No, I don’t want to feel your baby kick. I didn't get to feel mine. I don't have those cool videos of him throwing a dance party in my belly and seeing the waves of the belly from the outside.
No, I don’t want to hear your pregnancy complaints. I'm sure it's terrible, and I really understand that parts of pregnancy aren't enjoyable - but please choose a different person to complain to. Please choose someone else who will understand, not someone who would give almost anything to have experienced that.
What I want is for me to be able to give all that, all those experiences to Little Slick but I can’t. I can’t give him those things. They’re forever lost and never recoverable.
So, I’m not cured but I’m managing. I’m enjoying my life and my little one. I love him more than I love myself but I’m still sad that I’ve lost these things for him - just trust me here, in my twisted mind these things are somehow my fault. I’m less of a woman because I don’t have certain experiences but I’m just as much a mother. Biology is least of which makes a woman a mother. My body failed my husband and our embryos but my heart has picked up where those left off by allowing me to not be too jaded and still love my child entirely. I’ll never be cured of my infertility; it’s chronic and never ending. I will however, triumph in parenthood.
For information about NIAW visit:
For general information about infertility visit: