I never really contemplated my fertility until my mid-30’s. At least once a month I regret that decision.
Like many women I spent my 20’s and early 30’s establishing myself in my career and building a strong relationship with my boyfriend, now my husband. I knew I wanted children, but I knew that my life wasn’t stable enough for that responsibility. We traveled a lot for work (and for fun) and lived in a small apartment that barely had room for us and I couldn’t imagine turning that into a safe and nurturing space for a child. At least once a month I regret that decision.
We’ve been deliberately trying to have children for 3 years now. We went from operating under the “if it happens, it happens” mentality to using a fertility app and saying things like “well next year at Christmas, there could be a baby to buy for.” I didn’t know it would be this difficult. I’m not the only person I know who’s struggled to conceive. I just didn’t think it would happen to me. So arrogant right? Why did I think I would be different? At least once a month I rage against that woman and her confidence. Who did I think I was?
In 2015 I had surgery to remove 5 fibroid tumors from my uterus. That was the first time I felt anxiety about having babies. I was advised to really try and get pregnant within 3 years before the fibroids had a chance to grow back. Over the next 3 years my husband and I spent months apart each year due to work. I regret those choices nearly every day.
In those 3 years we both met career goals that took nearly a decade to reach and pausing to have children in a cramped apartment, living in a place where we both commuted an hour each day and the closest family members living nearly 2,000 miles away…it all felt impossible. Not a day goes by where I don’t regret just doing it anyway. I regret not finding a way, imagining a way for it to have worked.
I am blessed beyond measure. Sounds corny, I know. I have a great husband, beautiful home and a sweet dog. I also have two empty rooms meant for children. I continue to open myself up to all the ways one can become a parent, but I’ve been disappointed so many times…
I can name and manage the disappointment of a negative test or a month without ovulating; I know all its parts. We tried another way, but it wasn’t meant to be. I know I have to keep going, but that disappointment changed me. Shook me. I don’t know it and I can’t manage it.
I often wonder if I was too selfish to try harder before and if it’s selfish to keep trying now. This life owes me nothing. Am I allowed to want more?
Oh and Barren Karen is all I came up with for the alternative to Fertile Myrtle. I know. I’ll see myself out.
