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I’d take Half-Drunk Right About Now

I am supposed to be asleep. I am stinking tired. These last 2 weeks of not going to bed until well past 2 am have caught up with me. But still, I can’t sleep. Which brings me to thinking what a light weight I am and how a half a beer will knock me right out. But I am full from the crap I have been munching on ALL day. Maybe I could just throw up?

I think I was ok until I started thinking about a friend I ran into this weekend. And the heartache this has caused me. Like pierce my heart with a dull rusty knife. Just there, festering. Then I started tossing and turning, thinking of how daring it would be to put it out there. Out there for all the world to see. For everyone to know how to get to my heart. How to hurt me. Where I’m vulnerable. And how ironically, the thought of getting it out there is cathartic.

We all know of our struggles to get pregnant. I certainly talk about it a lot. Too much. I hate to talk about it. I know, it’s like blah blah, blah. But I do, because it’s where I am in my life right now. It consumes me. Sometimes more than the blessing I already have. And it shouldn’t. But it does. But there are a few things that get me through these moments. 1.) Hubby and his unwavering support and faith. 2.) Friends who hear me, who acknowledge the hurt and who don’t tire of the blah blah blah. 3.) talking/blogging about it and 4.) knowing that other people I know are struggling too. Which brings me to my point.

I don’t deny that I am miserable about this. And it is so true, in my case, that misery loves company. It was comforting knowing that I had friends that are going through this with me. I feel not so forgotten. If that makes any sense. Well, this friend I ran into, we were fellow fertility strugglers with our first child. So I was comforted in the fact when we started trying again at the same time that I would have someone to turn to. Someone to share my pain with. We don’t speak often, as life kinda gets in the way. Well, a few months back, I ran into a mutual friend and she commented how exciting it was that Friend was pregnant, 7 months along, with a girl! I think I cried for days. That day in fact, I wrote this post. My infertile friends were being picked off one by one, and I was the only one left. He had forgotten me. And I was hurt that I had spoken to her recently, and we had attended some of the same birthday parties, and I didn’t’ know. It dawned on me for the first time, how scared other people were to share their joy. And that angered me even more. And hurt me too. I felt alien. I could feel the stares from people as pregnancies were announced, baby showers were had, everyone on their toes. They don’t know what to say. They can’t look at me in the face, not when gifts are being opened, not when names are being announced, not when games are being played. At least, in my mind, this is what happens. People are probably oblivious, as the world does not revolve around me. Well, not their world at least. But in my world, and in my head, that is how it all goes down.

So I ran into said Friend, who has since had her baby girl, and I froze. I had not expected for my heart to drop like a ton of bricks. To see how fantastic she looked, wearing New Mommy Fabulous. So I fidgeted for my voice, for my sight, for my heart. To pull it all together. To put on a happy face, oh that stupid Happy Face – I am so sick and tired of it. To be happy and ask about her blessings. Because I don’t want to have to watch her struggle telling me something she doesn’t know how to share with me. And I don’t want to struggle with having to listen to something I don’t know that I can handle. Isn’t this terrible? Who wouldn’t be afraid to share their news with me? I certainly would. But I live with this stigma I have created for myself. All in my head where I usually like things. Because everything is always so pretty in there. And it always goes my way. But this heart of mine, there’s no reasoning with the damn thing! It takes over my pretty little head and then things get hairy. They all become so real. And I become so vulnerable.

So infertility sucks, anyone wanna join this club too? I’d love company!



Think about it.

And though I am taking part in the Half Drunk challenge (see button on the right), I’m not drunk. But that’s starting to sound like a fantastic idea. Because maybe I’ll get kinky, have sex and get pregnant. And if all else fails, I can drown my sorrows. So yay! I guess.


  1. I am here through Momalom and although I don’t know your history (I”ll have to go do some more reading!) I was totally touched by your words because I Was There. I know you don’t want to hear “Was” there but reallly, truly, I can so empathize with what you’re going through. The anger. The overwhelming emotion. The not wanting to talk/see/be with anyone. Everyone used to tell me I should just be “blessed” to have my first. I wanted to smack everyone who said that. Yes, of course I was blessed but that doesn’t make the need/desire/WANT for a second any less. I almost feel secondary infertility is harder than with a first child. So I KNOW. I don’t know what steps you’ve taken/are taking/plan to take or if you are done trying but know you aren’t alone. You really, really aren’t.

    Your words touched me.

  2. I, like Becca, ventured over here from Momalom.

    I am very glad you shared this. I have a few friends who have, or are, experiencing infertility. I struggle with what I should or should not tell them. I usually say something, without thinking, than regret it.
    I don’t think I am making much sense, so maybe I will send you an e-mail.

    Anyway, thank you so much for expressing your feelings.

  3. This is such a brave post. Like Becca and Amber, I found your post through Momalom and I’m very glad I did. You raise such an interesting point about what happens to people who’ve struggled through a challenge together after one of them overcomes that challenge. What is the right thing to say (for either party)? I am astounded by how many women face infertility (myself included) and I wonder how much good would be done if more of us had the strength to talk about it as you have. Thank you for your courage.

  4. I found you through Momalom, too.

    I am sorry – I am really sorry – that you are going through this. For a long time this was me and my sister. I was whelping babies every time I got sneezed at, and she was having to get shots, take temperatures, go to the doctor every week, and every time she took that pee stick test, and every time it came back negative, it took her just a couple days longer to tell me.

    I guess what I am trying to say is that, even though your friend doesn’t know how to act around you, she does love you and care about you and she wants you to have new mommy joy so you can be new mommies together.

    One day, I pray, you’ll be in her shoes.

  5. Vanessa,
    I am so sorry for the pain of the infertility. It is a wonderful that you can write about it. That you can talk it out. That you can feel supported in this place online, even if you struggle in your day-to-day.

    I hope that your struggles end in happiness and baby breath.

    Hugs to you.

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