Imaginary Children

When I first started this blog, I had intended to tell colorful stories of my childhood and maybe enlighten a few about dyscalculia. Over the course of a couple years it has evolved into something a little more. When I write about infertility, it's usually through my tears and as I sit here now- my eyes are thick with salt water.

I spend a lot of time imagining what our child would be like. I imagine a tall girl- with her fathers wavy blonde hair and my blue eyes. I imagine all the things I was going to teach her like pottery and archery, baking and makeup. She's had a hundred names in eight years. I imagine a son with a freckled nose and an oversized wristwatch riding a bike with his dad. I imagine teaching him to be a good man. A simple man.

Each year that passes by yeild not children, but another dozen failed pregnancy tests. I grow more distant from the things I once loved and feel myself surrendering to a deep and lingering sadness that I can not shake. I wear masks every day to work but I am afraid people are beginning to notice there's not much life happening behind these eyes.

I feel myself pushing my Viking away in anger and sadness. I am angry that he loves me. I am angry that he loves me AND I can't give him what he wants; what he deserves. I break my body, force chemicals into it, sleep upside down, eat strange herbs, suffer horrible pain and sickness. I must endure debilitating anxiety attacks brought on by the hormones. I am subjected to humiliation each time I see a new doctor. And I do all of this because I love this man so much and want to give him a child.

It does not matter to me if he tells me we don't need to have a child. I know in my heart he wants one and I will be the reason he doesn't have an heir to his throne.  I can not live with that.

I never have felt permanent in this relationship. It  has always felt as though this relationship was hinged on whether or not I produced a baby. After so many years of failure the guilt, anger and complete and utter sorrow has broken me inside. I feel like the shell of a person, just animated skin  and bones masquerading around as a happy person.

I am slipping.

This causes me to stay away from people. I don't go to see his family even though they are right next door. Why? Guilt. I am a fraud. I am holding their son back from having a child. I am robbing them of having a grandchild. I see it when they look at me.

I lash out at the Viking- wishing he'd just end us. I imagine him finding someone who can and will give him a child. I imagine being both happy for him and terribly terribly sad.

I imagine running away to another state, Vanishing. Never looking back so I don't have to hurt.

There is no winning here. I lose no matter what. It's a terrible place to be.

People in my life do not understand what I am going through and I can not explain in anyway that help anyone feel what I am feeling. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Infertility truly is a lonely place.