I don’t know if I’ll ever have babies.
Let me tell you what I do know:
I know that my husband doesn’t create sperm.
I know that he’s ashamed of it and that makes me ashamed of him. He should advocate for all men out there who suffer silently through infertility, but he won’t, and I won’t “should” on him.
I know that I’ll NEVER do another round of infertility treatments because they make me crazy and hurt like hell.
I’m a wreck while on the drugs and a wreck when they don’t work.
I know I had at least one egg welcome donor sperm into her secret chamber and try to dig into my lining and hold on.
I know that the drugs made my lining extra thin so that her little grippers might as well have been coated in oil.
I know that the first pregnancy test came back MAYBE, as did the second.
I know that people expect me to move on.
I know that the only way I will get a child is if I adopt.
I know my husband is worried about adoption.
I know that I will find a way to do it.
I know that there are days that infertility defines me, and I can’t help but wonder if it is because God is punishing me.
I would give anything to have a child and can’t stand to be around people who suck as parents. Yeah – I’m judgmental of your parenting.
I know I can do it better.