Earlier this week, I picked up my last round of Clomid. While walking down the street, I saw a pregnant woman who was just so adorable I wanted to die.
Instinctively, I thought “I hate you.”
Which is, admittedly, a terrible thing to think about anyone, let alone some innocent woman strolling down the street on a hot summer evening. Sadly, this has become a bit of a reflex in the last few months. See pregnant woman, harbor irrational hatred.
Almost immediately, I thought “If I’m lucky, other people may hate me the same way someday.”
I had not really considered this before. Even if I do come out of all this with a child, I’ve now seen things I can’t unsee. I’ve witnessed fertility through the eyes of someone who is infertile. I know what it is like to see pregnancy, parents, and small children, and literally ache. No matter what happens, this will always be written into my story.
A few weeks ago, fellow IF blogger Haisla asked “Who will I be when (if) the much expected finally happens?” I’ve been thinking about that so much since she posed the question. I’ve never thought of myself as fixed in time, but there are events that fundamentally change who we are.
We can’t change them or stop them from happening. We can only change how we react to them. I am trying so hard to derive something positive from this experience, while also honoring how deeply sad this chapter of my life is. Holding both. It’s really hard.
Regardless of what happens, I need this to serve a purpose. I’m not sure I’m cynical enough to believe that this is just crappy. Even if I have to make up my own damn meaning, I need this to have value.
I’ve struggled with what this experience is teaching me.