Dear infertile body,
Lately I’ve been noticing you are getting these tiny little flickers of ideas and thoughts, like you actually think they’re cute, about what if Lachlan could be a big brother, what if you miraculously got pregnant without trying, what if you didn’t need IVF to make a second baby, what if you could announce a second pregnancy with Lachlan wearing a shirt that says ‘big brother’ and I freakin hate you for it. Please don’t make me want a baby that we can’t make. Please don’t make me yearn for something that costs a fortune and is still not guaranteed to work. Please don’t make me time sex with ovulation. Please don’t make me actually want to take 66 progesterone injections in the butt cheek as long as it meant you were pregnant. Please don’t give me false hope that maybe it could happen for us again. I won’t fall for it. I won’t let you make me feel like that ever again. Just because you had one baby, doesn’t mean I’m okay with everything now, because I’m not. I’m not okay with not having the choice to grow my family the way I want to. I kind of hate you right now.
And please pay no mind to the bill that came in the mail by error, a bill that said if we didn’t pay $400 our embryos would be destroyed and no longer stored. You know you didn’t have any embryos left. You knew this since day one. It was a clerical error, a very stupid mistake on your IVF clinic’s part which they have since fixed and apologized for. But beating the holy hell out of that garbage can with a snow shovel in the garage felt really damn good, didn’t it?
Shit shit shit shit shit.
PS – Your brain helped write this too, so don’t just be mad at me.