April 22, 2010
When I saw the title of a friend's blog post this morning, my heart leapt while at the same time sinking. She'd birthed her very-much-wanted baby girl - which now brings the pregnancies of four friends all due within the past month to an end.
In a way, it's easier to cope with the newborn pictures at times than it is to cope with the tummy pictures and saccharine musings. Those I can gloss over, or choose not to read at all - I can hide away and pretend that I'm taking some time out from being online.
I started reading a book today that my naturopath let me borrow called Inconceivable, by Ben Elton. It's a romantic-comedy about a couple struggling with infertility. Used to the complex worlds of sicence-fiction (particularly space opera) I've flown through it and in the first 60 pages I've both laughed and cried. I realise how much of a broken record I am, and how I'm selfishly dwelling on what I don't have instead of what I do have (stable marriage, job, finances etc).
But I suppose at the same time the stability induces guilt, there's nothing really to validate my thoughts, nothing concrete except a piece of paper and receipts for medical services proving that I really ferociously infertile at present. Damn you fallopian tubes!