I didn't spend as much time on the infertility road as most people do. It still felt like forever. And honestly, I don't think it's a road anyone gets off of, children or not. And it's different, having a son. Being pregnant somehow unexpectedly. Because I remember vividly.
I remember the day one of my closest friends had a baby, and I got to cuddle that sweet, tiny newborn on the day of her birth. The next weekend I made Tim take me to the PetSmart and we adopted my cat, Coco.
I remember hiding from Relief Society for months so I wouldn't have to hear the inevitable pregnancy announcements. And sometimes avoiding church altogether so I wouldn't have to see so many "fat'n'happies" and hear them complain about how huge they are, because, you know, the have a frickin' BABY in them.
I remember pretty much having a breakdown the morning I got an email announcing a co-worker's pregnancy (as much as I love her), spending half an hour crying in my bathroom, and calling in sick from work. And then seriously spending the day in bed.
I remember hating women with babies, and learning not to hate the women with babies I wanted to stay friends with. I remember one of those friends letting me sit and hold her new son and stroke his fuzzy baby head for an hour without saying a word of complaint. I remember tears of gratitude for that.
And I remember feeling alone among all of the mothers, and despising the way whenever I tried to join a conversation about babies from what little I could gather from the internet and personal experience, they looked at me like I was an idiot, or pointed out how I was wrong and wouldn't know anything anyway, or just ignored me and my useless non-mom comments.
More recently I remember feeling sad as my belly grew big enough to show, because I knew others would see it and mourn not having one of their own, like I so often did. And I hated that my presence could bring someone so much pain, and how intimately I knew that pain.
And now, there is a baby. He's here. I am a mom in every sense. I was a mom the moment I began to carry those babies. I was a mom when each of them was born. I was a mom when I took home my survivor. And I am a mom again, to someone totally new.
But I'm still as infertile as ever, some days. It's hard to stop being mad at women who get pregnant in a snap and have all the babies they want, when I, at 22, was told that I had only a few (sorta) fertile years left. Even when that means being mad at me for how easy I have it with my living son and living fetus. I remember being angry and sad and jealous and confused and depressed.
I remember how unfair it felt, and from this side, I'd say it feels just as unfair. But that's easy for me to say now, isn't it? Some days I hate myself for how easy unfairness is when it's in my favor.