I always assumed that I would lead the normal, expected life of most women in America today. Go to college, get a job, get married, have kids, retire at 65, live happily ever after.
But is that really what I want?
Am I meant to be a mother? Am I cut out to be a mother?
So far, life is telling me no.
I never dreamed I would suffer from infertility. It’s not something that’s ever talked about in health class in school. You’re just told that if you have sex, you’ll get pregnant and have a baby. If only I had known my body didn’t want a baby, I wouldn’t have spent all that money on birth control the first few years of our marriage.
I don’t even know if I want to be a mother at this point anymore. The heartache I’ve already faced from two years of failure still weighs heavy on my heart. I still feel each and every disappointment as if it happened yesterday. Am I really ready and willing to put myself through that again?
Because of course it’s not going to be as easy as it is for everyone else. Not for me. My body never does things the easy way. I’m not even certain I can carry a baby, with the adenomyosis. Is my uterus too far gone? Will I finally get pregnant, only to have a miscarriage? I think I might wind up in the psych ward if that happens.
Do I want to give up the relative serenity of my life now? Can I become unselfish enough to take care of another human being for the rest of its life? And am I even healthy enough to be able to take care of a child?
I don’t know. Will I ever know? Do I just try and not worry about the consequences?
Because I want to be pregnant. I think I will look really cute with a baby bump. I want to hold a baby in my arms and know that it’s mine.
But will I ever get that chance? And do I even want that anymore?