Living with infertility.

When you go to Target, and you see all those cute baby outfits and the furniture? You redirect your attention to kitchen decor.

You walk down an aisle, and there’s a dad playing with his two daughters while mom shops. You imagine your husband doing that before you redirect your attention to accent rugs.

Next, you’re confronted with six pregnant women as you walk across the store for cheese and candy because fuck healthy eating, it hasn’t helped you so far. You imagine what that must feel like, having a life growing within you. You shut those thoughts down because it hurts so goddamn much.

As you’re walking to the register, you encountered three sets of twins and you wonder if that will be you because you have to do fertility treatments for any hope. But then you remember, those haven’t worked for you, either.

Finally, FINALLY, you make it to the register…and the cashier and lady in front of you know each other. Oh, look at that, they’re talking about how the lady can’t get pregnant again. “It’ll happen when it will!” Oh. Now let’s talk about how amazing it felt in the delivery room after you each held your children. Really? Is this SERIOUSLY happening to me? Yes. Yes, it’s real. So at this point, you’re trying so hard not to cry because hello, crazy. You will the cashier to shove everything in the bags so you can sit in your car and just curse fate for being so fucking cruel.

That isn’t even a day with infertility. That’s an hour. Constant redirecting of thoughts, ignoring anything baby around you, just trying so hard to forget the one things that is unforgettable.

Dealing with infertility is mentally exhausting.

Dealing with the questions about children.

Listening to every conversation turning to children and pregnancy.

Battling with your own mind: do we really want children or are we just conditioned to want them?

Covering up the random urge to breakdown after weeks and weeks with no tears.

I’m just so tired of it.