Infertility is sunglasses when it’s dark outside facing the train window on your commute home so no one can see you cry.
It is praying to a God you’re not even sure (knows you) exist(s) anymore in the hopes that He will take away this pain if you’re not meant to be a mother. If He can give to others so freely what you desperately want, surely, he can freely take away what you so desperately want taken away.
It is bruises and stress that make your body so tense that when your partner tries to comfort you, your body’s instinct is to recoil in fear of another violation.
It is “growing up too fast”- grief and loss not many other 26 year old couples have had to experience.
Infertility is crossing the street to avoid eye contact with the family coming towards you, little boy/girl joyfully running out in front of parents, reminding you of what you may never have… what your family may never look like.
Infertility is four women at the foot of the hospital bed- your legs in the air, their hands on all of your sensitive regions with a big bright light examining every inch of you for perfect placement.
It is discreetly removing the bandaids from your arms at work after this mornings bloodwork. (Hoping the bruises and lines don’t start to look like track marks.)
It is panic attacks in Buy Buy Baby when the cashier asks for the name of the registry you are shopping for and, unable to respond, running out of the store before the sobs escape your mouth.
It is smiling through the pain at back to back baby showers as new moms-to-be open diaper bags and pack and plays and hundreds of adorable outfits.
It is packing up the outfits you bought for your someday when you first started trying, tucking them away in the top of the closet on a shelf rarely used.
Infertility is the “nursery” at the top of the stairs being turned into an office. No sense waiting to use the room for a baby who may never come.
It is gaining 30 pounds in two years, the result of stress eating and hormone injections and general disregard for a body which no longer feels like your own.
Infertility is listening to the voicemail that could change your life… and hearing that it won’t.
And pretending like nothing is wrong.
Infertility is business as usual.