I have learned much on my travels via Infertility Avenue. Personally, I've learned how irritating it is not to have control. I often find myself grasping at a "plan", charting options, grabbing for that elusive ah ha, just to feel like I'm driving my own life. I've learned that it's very difficult to be--much less stay--centered if you don't know what your center is going to end up being. I've also learned that though each of us is going through something very similar, we experience it in widely differing ways. My experience is not and can't be yours. Your pain, your joy, your fears are yours, uniquely yours. We commiserate, we support, we cheer, but each of us is in our own lane.
So I'll come clean. Other people's babies and small children don't bother me (unless they throw up on me on a plane. Hasn't happened, but I wouldn't like it). In fact, many are really kind of cute. Some aren't. I don't cringe when I see a Pregnant Person. It doesn't make me uncomfortable or jealous when people talk about their kids or when someone excitedly announces that they're pregnant, out of the blue, can't believe it, isn't it the most amazing thing??!! My general antipathy toward baby showers is not because someone, not me, is pregnant, it's because they're always on a Saturday afternoon, they play silly games and they last too long. (I like my Saturdays.) I really want everyone who wants to get pregnant to get pregnant. I do. Really. Except for crack addicts. And mean people.
I say this not to evidence how admirably well adjusted I am or my commendable maturity (my RE reminds me of my "maturity" all the time), but to admit my selfish little secret. I don't want Other People's Babies, I want my own. I don't want to adopt. I don't want to use donor eggs or sperm if it came to that. I don't want to steal that cute baby from the Target. I want my own little Melanie/E combo, with some sass and wit on the side. I want to point at that child and chuckle (in a kind parental way, of course) because he's a horrible dancer like his father. I want to tell her that she got her mama's brains, thank God, wink wink. I want...I want...I want.... I know how it sounds.
It's why the results of these tests have such import, I think. My Plan B won't be adoption or donor eggs or donor sperm. It will be a different path. Still, I hope, one with meaning. And if that's the case, I will pull off of Infertility Avenue and onto, well who knows. It's my selfish little secret.
Don't tell anyone.