Dear Infertility…

During the years we were trying to conceive, this is the letter I would’ve written to my infertility:

Dear Infertility,
I’m glad to have the chance to speak directly to you after all this time. We’ve lived together in this body for years, and I think it’s time to call a house meeting and iron out a few things.

First, I wish you’d stop tweaking the thermostat. One minute I’m hot with anger and tears. Then, twenty minutes later, I’m wrapping my arms around my chest to fend off the bitter cold of loneliness. It’s super annoying.

Second, please stop leaving boxes of junk in the middle of the floor. How many times has your box of jealousy tripped me up? Or how about that backpack full of self-loathing? I mean, you’ve got a lot o’ baggage, and I really resent having it shoved in my path.

Let’s also talk about your music. I wish you’d play something other than those same tired songs about shame and guilt. You’ve had them on repeat for years! Admittedly, they’ve got a hook that lodges itself in my brain–I know every line by heart and could probably mumble them in my sleep. But, c’mon. Play something a little less angst-y once in a while.

And have you ever heard of boundaries? I don’t know why you think it’s fine to sneak into my bedroom when I’m with my husband. Honestly! Who can enjoy fun times with their spouse when it’s obvious you’re in the room. You’re the most intrusive third wheel in the history of third wheels.

I’ve also had it with your friends showing up uninvited. Well, really, it’s just the one friend. I don’t know why you call her Aunt Flow when everyone knows you guys aren’t related. And she’s so unreliable. Sometimes she’s on time. Sometimes she’s late. I wish she’d just take a hike for nine long months.

baby showerCan I just say how much I hate it when you tag along with me to parties, showers, and holiday gatherings? It’s so embarrassing when you show up at a baby shower and start whispering awful things in my ear. Then, I have to act like you’re not there when everyone totally knows you’re there. AWKWARD. Plus, we all know how much you can’t stand the adorable onesies and those faux cakes made out of rolled up diapers. Really, you shouldn’t come. Like at all.

Look, I know people think you’ll change (or just leave) if I stop stressing about all the madness you’ve brought with you. Like my lack of stress will make you vacate the premise (taking Aunt Flow along with you). But you and I both know that’s not going to happen. You’re not really the sort who’ll just leave if we all ignore you.

Okay. Here’s the truth. Even if you do leave and I get a new roommate, an adorable new roomie who has my nose and my husband’s eyes, you’ve left your fingerprints all over the place. It’s not like I can remove every trace of you. You’ve banged up the floorboards and chipped away the paint. So, we just need to make peace. You aren’t going to change, but I can change the way I react to you and your inconsiderate ways. I’m going to focus on taking better care of myself rather than letting you frustrate me so often. It’s what I’ve got to do until I can figure out a way to evict you for good and get that new roommate moved in.

With hope for better times ahead,
Tegan
P.S. You really do make me nuts. Maybe someday I’ll write a book about it. Believe me, I’ve got enough material.

Baby shower image via Flickr by Emily Stanchfield

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9 thoughts on “Dear Infertility…

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