What it means to me..

I refuse to believe that I will be facing infertility forever. Right now? Right now we're just taking as many steps as we can for me to conceive as naturally as possible. Yeah, yeah that's it...


What does (temporary) infertility mean to you? Because to me, it means avoiding all possible lapses of sanity when Aunt Flo stops by for another un-welcomed visit, suitcase in hand, bringing all those distant cousins of hers that no one likes - Cramps, Headache & Hormonal Bitch - they make for one awkward dinner conversation. It means unintentional teeth grinding for every pregnancy announcement I see/hear. It means maintaining my relationship with my friends & co-workers who conceive effortlessly while consoling my husband, whose heart breaks equally with every stop at the store for tampons & Pringles. 


For me, infertility is: the answers never being what you want them to be. Never being satisfied with the next step. Constantly having to withdraw myself from situations where I may be asked "so, when are ya'll planning on having kids?" so as to not spontaneously melt into a pile of hot mess. Refraining from throat-punching the people who feel it completely necessary to tell me that my life is so wonderful because "you don't have kids to worry about". 


For me, infertility is a constant struggle to make it through the day without lashing out, or breaking down. 


I'm not a religious person. I have my own beliefs & my own opinion on how the world came to be what it is today. However - throughout this journey, this struggle, this heartbreak - I can't help but remember something my Nanny (RiP <3) used to quote every morning when she woke up..


"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can change, and the wisdom to know the difference."


Whether there is a God or not, whether there is a higher power or there isn't - I need someone to grant me the aforementioned serenity, courage & wisdom. I cross my fingers while I wish upon every star, every candle I blow out, every 11:11 that passes, every wishbone I encounter to be blessed with the opportunity to be a mother. I want to attach someone to the other end of the string that is already wrapped around my husbands pinky finger, waiting to be tugged on. I want to be proud, and to love like I have never loved before.