Infertility Rage Day

I don't have many of these days. I've learned over the years that most comments, questions, or observations directed at me in regards to my infertility shouldn't be taken to heart.

That is not to say that there aren't some days when its impossible not to feel the dagger of a non-chalaunt, inappropriate statement formed in the guise of a backwards complement.

I know we don't have children. I wake up every morning to that reality. Sometimes as I'm walking to work I'll remember that its been 7 years of wanting kids and not being able to have them. I'm reminded everyday of something I've wanted for so long. I don't need other people reminding me too.

I have found that there are two things I hate talking about: my age and how long I've been married. Know why? Because those are the two topics that lead right into the Dreaded Kids Question.

I've been told many times that I don't look my age. Its not really surprising to me since I've haven't looked my age since I was 18. I do find it hilarious that no one believes me when I say that I'm 33 years old. Some days its complementary, but lately on numerous occasions  I've been told the reason I don't look my age is because I don't have children. Thanks...I think.

The first time this was said to me I kind of brushed it off. But Wednesday, or as I dubbed it Infertility Rage Day, I just couldn't shake it off, because it was said by a member at work who I actually like talking to on a regular basis. I wasn't feeling good that day so I didn't have the energy to defend myself with a snarky response. And worse, it was said amongst other women I'm not really comfortable being that transparent to about my inability to have children.

I came home trying to figure out what 33 looks like. And I'm surprised I don't look my age considering the stress I've been under over the past 7 years trying to have a baby. I would think that would have aged me. Or the trauma of having to endure an ectopic pregnancy resulting in losing my tube and our first baby. Surely that would have aged me. Or having to mourn my dream children with the help of a counselor. I'm surprised that hasn't aged me.

And I did the only thing I knew to do when someone reminds me that I'm infertile. I cried and I cried hard. I yelled and raged at anyone who was listening (poor Jack). And it didn't help that it was the gloomiest day ever.

Sometimes I really hate being in the company of other women, and their ignorance to the realities of IF, especially when I'm on the receiving end of it.

Infertility Rage Day. I don't have those days a lot, but when they do come approach with caution and carbs.