*I'm going to go on a bit of an infertility bender. I haven't blogged about anything related to this in a while so I apologize if the whiny nature of this post is annoying*
I'd love to have the problem of pregnancy induced heartburn. I'd love to toss and turn at night knowing that the child I am growing inside of me is causing me restless nights.
I'd love for me and my husband to struggle with the decision of naming our child as the weeks fly by and my due date draws near.
I'd love to know what it feels like to feel my baby kick me. I'd love to watch as my belly (and most likely my butt) grows each week.
I'd love to daydream about what my child will look like without the pain I feel when I daydream about it now.
I'd love to have my child run into my bedroom and wake me up early on a weekend morning because he/she just can't wait to see mommy and daddy.
The pain of many infertile women grows as we hear our pregnant friends (and sometimes strangers) talk, complain, stress and communicate about the experiences they are going through while carrying their children. They are not "rubbing it in" and should never censor themselves for the population of women unsuccessful in getting pregnant. Each person is experiencing their own life and struggles in whatever stage they are facing in life. But as an infertile woman who turns the page of the calendar each month and realizes that time continues to pass by without a child in my belly or my arms, I long to experience the trials and tribulations of pregnancy and parenthood.
I continue to fill a space in my heart and mind with positive thoughts that someday, we will be lucky enough to be parents. As I see friends double lap me in the child department and read about infertile woman getting pregnant, I question when it will be my turn but I can't allow that to consume me. The dark space is lonely and sad, somewhere I do not wish to spend my time. So I don't think about it or remain blissfully positive (sometimes I feel like I am blissfully ignorant) that my turn will come.