Once again, nature has confirmed that I’m not pregnant. Maybe we should buy stock in Kleenex, as I’m going through a couple of boxes a week these days. I know it’s not healthy to focus on the negative things, that I should be grateful for all of the blessings in my life, but I can’t stop crying today. Actually, just about every day I wind up in tears; there’s always something that reminds me of how empty my arms are.
With my 40th birthday right around the corner, I’m constantly fighting the panic rising in my throat and the voice in my head telling me that it’s too late for us. Right now we’re debating fertility testing. I’m not sure there’s much point, really, because we can’t afford any kind of assisted reproduction techniques. Our insurance doesn’t cover it and we can barely pay our medical bills as it is. Plus, I’m hesitant to try Clomid (should that be a viable option) because it could make my depression worse. We’d love to adopt, and are looking into it, but I don’t know how in hell we would pay for that, either.
I’m just so tired of dealing with infertility. First, after we got married, one of my doctors said I shouldn’t get pregnant because my antiseizure medication might be too dangerous for the baby. Then last summer we consulted a perinatologist, who thought that after some medication adjustments we could go ahead and try; I’d be a high-risk pregnancy, but we’d have a good shot at a healthy baby. Now I can’t even get pregnant. And one by one, my friends have been getting pregnant and having adorable, lovely babies.
It feels as though motherhood is happening for everyone around me, and I just want to scream “Why not me?!” Am I being punished for something? Am I just totally deficient as a woman? We are so lonely for a child of our own. I’m happy for my friends, I truly am. But why, God, can’t I have a baby too?
I apologize for the pity party, but I needed to vent.