Here I sit, with my son hiccuping in my belly and making it jump around, crying to myself and feeling like I am such a fake.
I am an infertile momma- what an oxymoron!- but it does exist and it lives in me.
I am nine months pregnant with my miracle baby boy. It's been a long road. Four years TTC, more rounds of drugs than I want to count/admit, two IVF cycles... and it was all worth it. In the midst of it everything seemed to go so slow, every day was a day of torture and a day that reminded me of my broken body and empty womb. Now, the days seemed to have flown by, and I can't believe that any moment now I could be holding my son. My son!
I am like a normal pregnant woman. I wake up multiple times a night to pee/readjust my aching body, I cry to my husband for no apparent reasons except that everything makes me tearful, and I complain -yep, every pregnant woman will no matter how badly we've wanted the pregnancy. When I was TTC, I thought I would never, ever complain once I got pregnant because I was above that, I was different, and because I wanted this so badly I would smile throughout the entire time.
I started out okay. :) The first time I vomited because of morning sickness I had to pull over to a gas station and vomit for about 15 minutes. I walked out of the gas station, with a smug grin on my face and feeling so accomplished and successful. Passerbys may have thought I hooked up in the bathroom or something, lol. I then called my husband to cry and tell him how happy I was! I got stretch marks and wore them proudly and hashtaged #earningmystripes because I was thrilled that my tummy was stretching because of my growing baby.
I wasn't always perfect, but I was careful. I whined to my husband and I whined to me bestie all the while saying "I'm so happy, but..." and "I am SO thankful, but..." and "I wouldn't trade it for the world... but..." and they understood where my heart was. I didn't feel the need to whine on Facebook about my potty breaks, or my 'fat'.
Then I hit 36 weeks.
It was like I hit a wall. I'm exhausted. I'm tired of not sleeping. My back is killing me. I feel like my stomach is hanging between my knees, and my legs look like tree trunks. I think I'm having BH and contractions, and I'm frustrated about not knowing when I'll labor, or how it'll go and I can't plan for it and... yes, I'm panicking. I'm panicking just like a normal, first time momma would and I'm complaining (still as sensitively as possible) because I. JUST. WANT. IT. TO. END!
I'll probably never be pregnant again. Sullivan will never be attached to me again. I'll be back to being 'just' (my feelings, not truth) an infertile woman who can't ovulate or get pregnant on her own. I'll once again feel like I'm wearing those scarlet letters of IF vs the sign of a happy glowing preggo lady. I'll be 'broken' again. It will be over.
Typing that out just breaks my heart. Yes, Walter and I will *always* be 'trying' to have another. And yes, we will be classified as a couple going through 'secondary infertility' and could always get help again. But I don't want to go back. I don't want to go back to the stress, and the monthly disappointment and the obligatory sex on 'heart days'.
My emotions are all over the place right now, and I just have this amazing burden on my heart. I will be a mom- the best one I can be!- and I will be an advocate for infertility. And if this makes me a fake, then so be it. However, infertility is a scar that never completely heals or blends in. Infertility changes your sex life, the relationship with your spouse, and it even changes pregnancy/parenthood. While I am waiting for baby #2, however baby #2 comes into our lives, and always and forever I will be a infertile momma and I will be proud of it because I have fought the fight and I have won... and I'm not about to give up anytime soon.