We were beyond excited to announce that we’re expecting another little bundle of joy. We were also extremely grateful, because it wasn’t as easy as a bottle of wine and date night for us. More like shots, pills and praying. I wrote the post below months ago, in the depth of struggling to get pregnant. I read it often to remind myself how badly I wanted to feel like the morning after a college rager-everyday. How badly I wanted to not fit my pants. How badly I felt when others didn’t realize the quiet struggles some of us have to get our little loves. My struggle was nothing compared to thousands of women who undergo years of procedures and pain trying for their sweet babes. But this isn’t a competition and it doesn’t make it any easier.
Every time one of my (well meaning) girlfriends bitches about being pregnant, I want to punch them in the face and say “Do you know how fucking lucky you are?!”. But I don’t, I just smile weakly and cry about it later. I’m not a crier, but there is something about not being able to get pregnant that destroys me. Jagger is a year now and we’re been trying to get pregnant for months. Many rounds of clomid (and a deep sense of failure) later, I write this.
I think it’s so hard because it’s entirely out of my control. I’m type A, to put it lightly, so things that are out of my control (like flying and my husband’s outfit choices) make me really uncomfortable. I’m healthy, fit and young; I should be the perfect candidate to get knocked up, but I’m not and no amount of praying, crying or clomid will change that. This isn’t up to me.
So next time you beautiful expectant mommas are wishing your ankles weren’t swollen or that you could binge on sushi and sake, remember, there is most likely a woman very close to you struggling quietly for those problems. (Don’t get me wrong, you totally get to bitch about nasty prego symptoms, just know your audience.)