This week is National Infertility Awareness Week. I have been thinking about that a lot the last couple of days.
Three years ago, I was doing fertility treatment, struggling with the trauma of multiple losses, and wondering what our future held (IVF? Adoption? Moving on?).
Two years ago, I had just found out I was pregnant... normally an exciting event, but given my history of miscarriages a very stressful time for me.
Last year, I had just had my son... I was still in shock over my good fortune, and really sleep deprived so who knew what I was thinking? And there was some "survivor's guilt" going on for me too. Happy for me, but also doing the "why me?" questions when there are so SO many others who deserve it too.
And here I am today. My second NIAW as a Mom, but my 7th year as an Infertile.
Guess what? I'm still more comfortable with the Infertile badge. Not that I'm not comfortable with the Mom badge... I love motherhood, my kiddo, and I'm pretty sure if Tuckman is the most badass 16 month old 'round these here parts. But I was an Infertile a lot longer than a Mom. And while I was pregnant, I still related better to the Infertiles. And as a mom, I find there are some things only other Moms who struggled with IF understand too.
I don't think of myself as in being in one specific club. I still feel a little weird in the proverbial "Mom" club, because it didn't come quite so easily to me, and so I still feel a little out of place. Like, maybe a sorority that's full of actually really nice, awesome ladies who see you as fitting right in, but they don't know you just recently lost 300 lbs and secretly got a nose job right before you applied during Rush Week... know what I mean? I'm so glad I'm in the sorority because I really love what it means in my life, but sometimes I wonder if they'd still want me if they saw my senior year prom picture. Or something.
But, the Infertile club is still a little weird too. The Infertile Club is my Glee. They accepted me just as I was, and while I joined because I just didn't know if I could fit in anywhere else, once I got there I found a love, acceptance, and camaraderie that I still deeply cherish. Who cares if we got the proverbial slushie in our face ("Maybe you should just stop thinking about it so much and it'll happen?" "Why don't you just adopt?" "I knew someone who canoed up the Grand Canyon backwards and she got pregnant the next week!"), we shared a dark humor, laughs, tears, and enough love to chase even a little bit of the darkness out of our hearts that infertility created.
I could write a hundred posts on survivor's guilt... and maybe I will write one or two in the future. I feel bad even talking about survivor's guilt, because at least I got to be a survivor... and you might be reading this post and thinking the very same thing. I remember thinking the same thing about others... I hope it doesn't seem insincere if I magically electronically reach through this computer screen and give you a hug.
I'm grateful the Infertiles, at least in the broad sense, haven't kicked me out. They could say, "oh! I see you're in Ms. Fancy Pants Sorority now? Too good for us, eh?" But they let me keep my hand in both. They let me post pictures of my kid on Twitter without this mass exodus of followers (and the few who do go, it's ok, I understand... you're tired of all my fart comments). They let me complain about mom stuff like lack of sleep, barf, and all manner of other mundane parent things. But I think they know, that I wouldn't trade what I have (even if it meant nothing but barf all day every day), and that I am grateful to the Universe. Every. Single. Day.
I'm always going to be an Infertile. I'll never take off that badge. I proudly display it right next to my new "Mom" badge that I wear on my Girl Scout sash of life. Right over my heart, where they both belong.
Mush mush mush. Quick, someone say something non-sappy.
...WHAT? Lindsay Lohan is playing Elizabeth Taylor?!?