They are turning one. The babies of the women who were announcing their pregnancies when we were announcing our secondary infertility diagnoses. I remember, so vividly, how hard all those “sucker-punch” BFPs hit me, how they took my breath away, how they compounded the feelings of broken-ness and desperation.
It was hard hearing about those pregnancies, when we had just heard our chances of having another child were less than 3%. It was hard watching those women build their families while we were coming to terms with the fact that our family would never feel complete.
Watching them turn one is actually a lot of fun. I really enjoy the posts, I love seeing the pictures. I marvel at the fact that my own son will look that big in just nine short months. I am so happy for those women, and the families they now have.
But their birthdays are also a gentle reminder of where we were, of how much we hurt. Most of the time I’m making it a positive thing, a reminder of all we’ve overcome, of how fucking lucky we are, of how grateful I am. Most of the time I appreciate the gentle reminder of how, a year ago today, I never would have dreamed I’d be holding my three month old son in 2014. In January of 2013 I was googling “AMH under 1” and “diminished ovarian reserve and IVF outcomes” and today I’m planning my return to work after three months of maternity leave. There are moments where I still can’t really believe that. It’s unfathomable to me.
But sometimes, the reminders are hard. It hurts. It’s painful to go back to those days, to relive those feelings of hopeless, anger and desperation. Sometimes it washes over me, and takes my breath away, all over again.
Parenting after infertility is a complicated thing.