>Sometimes, I think I am handling our situation with infertility well. We’re enjoying life and are seriously putting off any decision making until we have what I hope will be a fun and relaxing summer. While I think about being infertile and am definitely not happy about it, there are days where I don’t think about it at all. Then, there are days like Saturday.

We had a great day…went for a good run (my best time yet!), shopping, and then got ready to go to a party that evening. It was a bbq/house warming party with a few other couples. I hadn’t seen most of them in a while, and there was one other couple at the party that I had never met. I was surprised to see they had a baby, only because I rarely see babies these days (we don’t really hear from most of our friends who have had children anymore, and all my other friends with children live many hours away). I wish I could say that the realization that I would be spending the evening with an adorable baby girl made me happy, but it didn’t. Instead, I almost felt a sense of panic, especially since I wasn’t prepared for it (if I know I’m walking into a situation with a baby, I usually have a better reaction).

At first, I was ok. There were moments that were not easy, like when I saw her father playing with her, and I started thinking about how sweet M would be with a baby, but I tried not to let my mind wander. Conversations, though, naturally turned to pregnancy and childbirth. That was especially true when one of the women told me that they are going to start ttc next year. They would ideally like to have a June baby, she said, but they were thinking they might start ttc in May or June of next year. While all the focus on babies and pregnancy was difficult, that was the hardest part. Hearing the optimism in her voice and her confidence that things would go as planned made me so acutely aware of my own lack of optimism. We stopped saying “when” we have children ages ago, and now use “if.” We don’t think about when would be a good month or season to have children, but instead think of periods of time that are conducive for fertility treatments. Seeing that baby and talking to other women made it hard to escape the feeling of being different…and that they have something that I don’t.

I actually had a good time at the party, despite the baby and pregnancy talk. After ttc for almost two years with M and for almost three years with my ex-husband, I’ve done enough research and have enough stories from friends that I can carry on a pretty good conversation. I did have too much wine, though, which had terrible effects once we were in the comfort of our own home. Once I started talking to M about it, everything just poured out. I’m not really a crier, but when I do, it’s all or nothing. I sobbed…about the unfairness of it all (I hate when I go down that road!), the fact that I don’t know what we should do, and that I’m turning 36 next week. I cried because doctors can’t figure out what’s wrong with me, and I don’t think they know if any of their treatments are going to work. Mostly, though, I cried beacuse I don’t want this…I don’t want to have to decide what to do, to call my insurance company for the hundreth time, or to decide how much I’m willing to put us through to try to have a child. I want to be the other people at the party – people who think of ttc as a joyful time and who decide ahead of time the month that they would like to give birth.

Most of the time, I’m really ok, but then I go to a party and unexpectedly see a baby, and apparently, it all falls apart.

That…and wine…is a bad combination.