I would say that I wouldn’t call myself an infertile. I conceived with little difficulty, technically on the fourth try. That’s just a slap in the face to so many who try for years… and yet, what if I can conceive, but I can’t carry my babies to viability? What does that make me? Just a cursed woman, a ghost mother of ghost children.
TTC’ing again brings so many memories and feelings of a time when I was innocent. When the agony of the 2WW was the worst I could imagine. Now I have no such faith that my biggest obstacle lies vaguely in and around a possible conception. What is the point of conceiving, if you cannot give your children the gift of experiencing this world in human form? My hope is dashed now, curbed by too many known possibilities. Chemical pregnancy, early miscarriage, placental abruption, placenta previa, prematurity, genetic disorders, developmental anomalies, chromosomal defects, cord accidents, meconium aspiration, SIDS… the list goes on and on and on, the possibilities are endless, from conception to the cradle, to the countless other ways even are older children can die.
Motherhood seems almost a nightmare of uncertainty.