* Fine here having the meaning I broke down while trying to study Hebrew and started sobbing in a coffee shop with my husband trying to console me.
For the record, it was an adorable little baby asleep on her Mum’s shoulder that did it, and not the Hebrew studies or the husband.
I am not one of those IFers. For the most part, when I see preggo folks and people with their adorable kiddos, I am not one to get sad, jealous, etc. I think this is simply due to the fact that I am blindsidedly optimistic that one day that will be me. I have yet to begin to believe that I will not be pregnant and give birth to a happy, healthy baby.
But I think IVF just takes all of it to a new level. It is tough to keep the rest of your world spinning when you have to jab yourself in the gut a couple times a day. When your whole schedule is run by appointments, visits, injections and BFNs, it’s a bit of a challenge not to focus every energy on something that comes so naturally to so many. And it’s times like those that you can’t help but say: “Why not me? And what if it’s never me?”
Editor’s note: For the assholes out there who do not have the courage to post their continually cruel remarks about why I have not yet been blessed with children, let me just say I am not actually asking you “why not me” and am not really inviting you to e-mail me your litany of my failures. I know, I know. Wear a sheital an ditch the baby stuff in the house. Point taken.
I’m usually good about this sort of stuff. I can maintain an even keel in the worst of storms. The shots didn’t do it for me, but God love her, that gorgeous four month old asleep after nursing killed me.