Losing my (in)

I guess there's no way around it: with Liam running around like a holy terror, and #2 on the way, it looks like I'm fertile.

It's a label I love having. One that, for a short time, I didn't. One that, even with a miscarriage and surgery and fertility drugs, I knew would one day come back; which was always at least in the back of my mind - we were fortunate to know from early on that, eventually, children should happen for us. Just that they wouldn't happen on our timeline. Which was heartbreaking enough; I truly ache for those for whom it will never be.

When you're dealing with infertility issues, all you want is to not be dealing with them. Watching other people sail through life with babes in arms or on the way sucked. I knew our day would come, but still - it sucked. We weren't exactly early starters in the race to have kids, but it bugged me that some of my friends had two or more before I even got one. No matter that it wasn't a race, nor that one certainly did not preclude the other - it bugged me. And if something so totally innocent as that bugged me, you can probably guess how I felt every time I heard about a baby on the way that - gasp! - wasn't planned. Oh, the horror. The practical side of me knew that an unplanned child could be every bit as much of a struggle as no baby at all; the emotional side of me said that these people knew no pain like mine. I wish I could say I was gracious through it all, but I can't. It's not that I wished difficulty on anyone else; just that I didn't like being reminded of my own.

Now it seems that I've crossed over to the dark side. I have one. I may have two before many others get one; I may have two while many others get only one, or none at all, ever, period. How does that make me feel? Considering my situation alone - wonderful. Considering the collective situation of us all - awkward. In the months and years leading up to Liam's arrival, I met a lot of people; people with situations like mine; people with situations far worse than mine. A lot of people I already knew and I met them for a second time as I got to know a side of them that wasn't often publicly shared. I consider these people to be my friends and yet know how hard it can be to remain friends when circumstances divide. I remember how bitter I often was to be the one left behind; now I'm the one kicking back clouds of dust.

To them, I have moved on, and that puts us on entirely different playing fields. But deep down, even waist-deep into building a family of my own, I don't feel like I'm entirely on par with the people who never knew what it was like to want a child and not have one. I don't think I will ever entirely feel there, whether I have one child or two or six. It's just that I will never forget that part of my life and what it felt like. I'm no longer infertile; but even with a uterus that currently seems up to the task of taking on tenants, I still don't feel fully fertile, either. I'm somewhere in between, and I'm hoping to retain a part of my membership in both groups... if only they will have me.