To The Moms That Tried To Comfort Me: I Get You Now

Live Kindly Lilies and Lambs

Throughout my fertility journey I enjoyed a rollercoaster of feelings and emotions, many of which were new to me entirely. And as a result, it momentarily changed me- the very essence of who I was at times; inevitably shifting the relationships I had with those around me. Particularly when it came to my more fertile counterparts.

 In the year plus we spent trying to conceive our daughter, these emotional shifts came in waves:

Some days, I was socially "normal"- carrying on as if there's wasn't an infertile elephant in the room hopped up on progesterone.

Other days, I needed a soap box- a night to vent and ramble and use medical jargon that I'm confident my comrades did not understand.

And then there were days {sometimes weeks, even} spent utterly reclusive - in which I didn't want to speak to anyone other than my husband, or a few very close friends. 

Relationships became secondary to the one I had with the child I was desperately trying to create; and interactions and discussions concerning other people's children or my current journey were nothing if not delicate. And while I needed support- abundantly so- there seemed to be nothing my support system could say to make it better- to make me a mom

Sure, there are things that you absolutely should NOT say to someone struggling with infertility- I'll let your imaginations run wild with that one, because there are some doozies. But then there are the things that I heard quite often; ostensively ordinary things that, at the time- the one in which I would have done ANYTHING to become a mom- seemed insensitive, and even cruel. 

Simple words like- Just enjoy yourself while you can; When it's meant to be it will be; or Mine drive me crazy, want one of them?- seemingly ordinary words spoken by exhausted mothers cut like a knife, and made my heart hurt just a little bit more.

Today, as I find myself in the tiresome position of being both a mother of a toddler and a woman trying to conceive the rest of her babies, I now understand those words that I once felt were so reckless.

And on days that start before the sun comes up-

the ones where I don't get a chance to brush my teeth, or shower, or finish my coffee before its cold; on days when my daughter publicly throws herself on the ground because her french fries are gone; on days when I'm tired and my my shirt is covered in avocado, and dirt and boogers; on days when I am knelt down cleaning up smushed raisins, and walls covered in crayon and a hamper laden with poop

- on those days, I say all the things that once seemed so cruel; I say them to the part of me that is trying for number two. Because while most days as a mom are beautiful; some days are abundantly hard. And in the tired haze of motherhood, I'm not quite sure I could handle being on bed rest again, as I seek novel ways to entertain a two-nager; or sleepless newborn-nights, as I hoard energy to keep up with my girl; or a crying infant, as I struggle to appease my toddler in the most simple of circumstances.  

So, to the mothers that tried to comfort me with these words- I'm lucky enough to get you now- my Madeline drives me just crazy enough to say them, too. 

And to those still trying to create their first born- I get you too, more than I wish I did. But I also know now more than ever how worth that struggle is. Even on days when I'm covered in kid-shaped dirt. Even on days when I say all those tired, reckless things. 

And I also now know that those two women- the one struggling with their infertility and the one called mom-  have more in common than I had once thought. And whether trying to conceive, or knee-deep in motherhood, some days... well, some days we are all just trying to get by.