When Fertility Comes Easy

I remember being a teenager when my Mom first assured me that I would be extremely fertile, and that I had “good birthing hips.” I’m sure as a teenager I was horrified to hear such things.

When I actually got married, I was in no hurry to get pregnant. My husband and I waited four years to travel, finish up school, and be “ready,” although no one is ever really ready. When it was time to start trying, I remembered what my Mom had told me my whole life: It would be easy. But, I also worried because I married into a family where there were fertility issues. Would my husband have problems if I didn’t?

When we were finally ready, it took me four months to conceive. I remember a little pang of disappointment each time the test came up negative. But when it came up positive, we were elated. Two-and-a-half years later, when we were ready for our second, I got pregnant on the first try. It was “easy.”

By the time I was ready to try for my third though, I was living closer to the family that struggled with the fertility issues. And, when, like clockwork, I got pregnant on the first try once again, I found myself afraid to make the announcement to my husband’s family.

Announcing my pregnancy to close family members should have been one of the most exciting moments of my life, but instead, it was something I was dreading.

Of course they were happy for me, but I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt when I heard, “You’re so lucky.”

Because I knew I was. I knew it was easy for me and so hard for them. But, I was pretty sure I shouldn’t be feeling so guilty.

Years later, I was accused of being ungrateful for what I had, in reference to my easily-conceived and birthed “horde” of three kids.

A family member couldn’t understand why I always seemed to be negative about my kids. I honestly didn’t know I was being negative. I was just being me, and going through life trying to figure out how to balance these three little lives with mine.

Anxiety and depression made some days seem overwhelming for me, and I had a way of being vocal about that since I wrote about it almost daily on my blog. To my surprise, what was therapeutic to me, just seemed like a bunch of complaining to her. I saw it as venting and moving on. She accused me of being ungrateful.

It was the greatest insult of my life.

It seemed shocking that someone would judge my own gratitude that way, since I typically don’t spend my time judging whether or not someone else is grateful for what they have. I mean, it’s silly really, since there is no real outward manifestation of gratitude we can show. And of course I love my kids so much. What Mom doesn’t?

I guess I could walk around all day saying, “Aren’t my kids beautiful? I’m so lucky!” but that gets annoying pretty fast. I could sit around and list things I’m thankful for to my friends, but then that might sound a lot like bragging. I could say, “I’m so glad I can conceive like clockwork,” but that would sound insensitive.

I just don’t know what I’m expected to do. Never complain? I certainly hate to feel guilty for something that comes easily to me, and frankly, something I don’t have much control over. We all have hard struggles as women, and as mothers. Even me, the mom that conceives easily. I have struggles too. Having kids just isn’t one of them.

I know the infertility struggle is real. Sure, I don’t know it firsthand. But believe me, I’ve watched others work through that pain, and I know it is heartbreaking and genuine and possibly the worst thing that these women have ever experienced in their lives.

I even understand how it might seem like everyone is walking around flaunting what they have. You can’t exactly escape families, pregnant women, and people complaining about their toddler’s temper tantrums if you want to ever venture out in public and live life.

The truth is, I want to talk about this issue with women who are dealing with the heartbreaking fate of infertility; but I’m sometimes afraid. If I could say anything to them at all, it would be that I’m so incredibly sorry. I really and truly am. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, and I hope all women struggling with fertility issues can find some peace.

In turn, I hope they know I’m not over here trying to flaunt anything or hurt them. And I’m not comparing my struggles to other women and blaming them for what they don’t experience that I may.

I want to be there for others who are dealing with this. I want to feel united with them no matter if their pain is different than mine. But, I don’t want to feel guilty because I don’t struggle the same way. There is enough divisiveness amongst women already that is leaving many of us feeling isolated and alone. Every woman, mother or not, struggles with something, doesn’t she?

Of course, I don’t know exactly how it feels. But, I’ve seen the comments and heard the complaints enough to know that there is some anger out there towards moms like me.

Bitterness seems to linger, and I get the sense that some don’t understand how I would ever possibly complain about morning sickness, or potty training, or temper tantrums because they are longing for all of that. I also get the feeling that they are constantly wondering, Isn’t she grateful?

And that just simply isn’t fair.

The thing about gratitude is that we could all stand to practice a little more of it. Sure, there are some days where I need to quit feeling sorry for myself and look around at the beauty of life. Appreciate more. Say “thank you” to the Man upstairs. Be still and know that I’m blessed. I’m grateful that motherhood helps me practice that. In fact, after three kids, I’m more intensely grateful than I ever thought possible.

Do I go shouting it from the rooftops? Ummm. No.

Do I complain some days? Yep.

But, ungrateful? Absolutely not.

I’m just over here with my own extremely difficult struggle that you can’t see. But I’m here for you, if ever you need me. If you can forgive me and trust that I’m grateful for every last hair on the heads of my kids. Even if I complain about something ridiculous like packing their lunches for school.

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