Thirty years old and dealing with fertility issues is a strange place to be.
My twenty year old years of ‘She’ll learn when she gets older’ and ‘She’s still young’ are behind me. My quota of mistakes have been made. I am a grown up.
Friends and relatives come to the mortgaged house that we live in for dinner (himself cooks- I’m still void of culinary talent) and the kitchen is cleaned thereafter to look shiny and new. We own Duelit appliances and an Aga. I’m aware of other people’s feelings and now remember to take a suitcase packed with nurofen, aftersun and mosquito repellent on holiday with me due to my increasing lack of tolerance to hangovers and sun burn. My mum is no longer on these holidays in order to use hers.
I rush home to feed the dog and I normally manage to schedule the washing so that our underwear drawers contain clean socks and knickers (normally).
In my twenties I once woke up late to catch a flight. I woke up late because I had been up until 4am the night before partying. Himself and I ordered pizza and in our scramble to leave the house, left the remains of said pizza along with three empty wine bottles and an overflowing ashtray on the table. It stayed there for the entire two weeks that we were away (you can imagine the honk when we returned). I now understand that I am a grown up because the mere idea of this would wake me up at night in a cold sweat.
(above not seemingly too worried about moulding old pizza)
The point is that mentally I am there, adulthood is upon me, yet I am unable to move onto the next stage, this being parenthood. The other problem with this is society, I am unable to get on with my adult years because it would seem that without a child in tow I’m still to be considered a real person. I cannot converse in the talk of babies. I don’t apply for any exceptions to be made for me. I don’t understand that when we have them ‘You’ll understand’.
Sometimes this gets me really down. You see, for those out there that feel like they can push us outside the circle, please remember that we’re trying and that really is all we can do. I’m not an alien I swear, I’ve just not been blessed with the ability to conceive without help. No scales or horns where they shouldn’t be. That really is it, I promise.
The physical pain speaks for itself but the emotional torment results in actual trauma. Actual painful, heart breaking trauma. Frustration over something that can’t be controlled, frustration that leads us to believe that we are lesser people.
I will tell you this though, if anything makes you a grown up that process does. It pushes your body and your relationship to the edge. It ages you, it changes your appearance and the way you look at life. I would wish it on nobody but perhaps, should you ever find yourselves there ‘you’ll understand’.