I have a home. I have a job. I have friends. Yet I want a baby so badly, I can touch it
And then there are those of us struggling with fertility. Who? The single women. The divorced ones. The widowed ones. Those who struggle with mental illness. Those whose illness is physical. Those who struggle with the physical or mental illness of another. And the biological clocks that stop for no one…
To my relatives, neighbors, and friends in the first category: Your pain is immense in its depth. In its mass. In its excruciating detail. I don’t seek to compare. I don’t seek to dilute that one iota.
But perhaps you’ll allow me the space to write this, and maybe you’ll read it, and maybe you can share a bit of your thoughts, of your journey, of your hard-earned strength with the rest of us?
I’m your acquaintance, your coworker, your cousin. You know my sweet little children, my second-grader and my independent-not-so-little preschooler. If you don’t know me well, you may think this is what I want.
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