I had started to write a post for infertility awareness week. I started a few times, but even after nearly ten years of a time span between learning of my fertility issues and actually having my own two kids, one naturally, even, the fertility issues are still raw for me to deal with. Just reliving the nightmares of laparoscopies and miscarriages and Dr. Moustache and failed cycles and sitting on my sofa crying incessantly, wishing that someone would put me out of my misery. There are times where I look back and wonder how I got through it. I’m pretty sure I blacked much of it out of my life. I tell people my memory is shitty, but I don’t think that’s the case. I think my brain purposely shut itself off during that time.
Instead, I leave you with this:
Having two small kids, one particularly small one whose sole mission it is, to leave destruction in her wake on a regular basis, means I find the funniest shit when I’m cleaning up the toys.
I found this shot apropos of the way I feel about my relationship with my infertility problems. The witch is dead. Because we’re done having kids, I no longer have to stare infertility in the face. I may always be sympathetic to women I encounter, who are going through such a horrible time. I will always lend an ear, or offer any advice they might need. I will always want to be a resource. But no longer will I have that black cloud over my head. Instead, I look at this picture and laugh, because even though I’m sick of tripping over these mini oz scenes daily, I’m still grateful that I get the opportunity to have this luxury. And after so many years of wondering what my life would be like, and if I would ever have the opportunity to be someone’s mother, and wonder what they would be like, I am there. And being their mother is pretty awesome.