Happy-Sad

Earlier, hubby and I took the dogs (we have Mum's dog staying at the moment, hence the plural) for a walk. We kept intersecting paths with this same couple out walking with their primary-aged kids. One of the little girls called, "Mummy!", and ran to catch her mother up.

Watching this family, I thought, "This is so normal to them. They're just walking about and this is everyday life. Having children is as normal for them as having a dog is for us."

And when the little girl called 'Mummy', I thought, "Will that ever be me? Will I be 'Mummy' one day?"

This is such a strange time. We have so much to be happy and thankful for, and I am noticing that every day at the moment; much more than I normally do. I feel lucky. Everybody has things that aren't as they'd plan them in their lives. So I wouldn't plan to be infertile. I'm still an incredibly lucky person. I met, fell in love with, and married the love of my life; all in my early 20s. That's pretty darn lucky. I'm part of an exciting, exciting church; and I follow an exciting, exciting Jesus. I had some inheritance, so we were able to buy a house. We didn't even have to scrimp and save to do so, the money was just there. And I have the cutest little dog in the world.

I am so thankful for the basic things, the things I take for granted: I'm white, I'm educated, I'm middle class, I was born in England, our healthcare is paid for. I worry that we can't conceive - not that I will be raped, catch AIDS, die in childbirth, or that my child won't have enough to eat. We have more than enough food every day, and that's something I take for granted. We have clean water on tap. We have enough money to live comfortably. I am free to marry the man I choose, and I am free to be a Christian. I have opportunities, and I have options. My life is very much my own.

The world is a beautiful, beautiful place for me. I am lucky enough to enjoy it, and, as I said, I feel lucky at the moment. Really, truly, incredibly lucky and blessed.

But at the same time, there's this sadness. I have everything I need. But I can't do everything I am biologically intended to and designed for. I love my husband, I love children, but I can't give him a child.

I'll get over it, if I have to. I feel sure of that at the moment. If it's not to be for us, it won't kill me. So I don't feel panicky, desperate, or engulfed - as I did earlier in the year, and in the years immediately after learning about the translocation.

BUT. But. I feel sad. I'm grateful for the things I have, I recognise that they vastly outnumber and outweigh the things that I do not have, and I mourn the things I do not have. Sometimes, I mourn the loss of my teens and early adulthood; the years I spent battling with my mental health. I'm grateful things are better now. But I mourn the loss of life I had during those years and the impact that has on my life. And I mourn the babies. Oh, I mourn the babies.

Whether we are able to have a family or not, our lives will never be the same; will never be unaffected by my infertility. And so I accept it; I talk about it; I even embrace it as part of me. It wasn't chosen... And yet, it is welcome. You see, had I not had the mental health battles, I would not be the person I am now: maybe not have met my husband, not have questioned my conditions of worth, not have faith. I'm very glad to have those things.

And so, this unchosen passenger is welcome, here, with me.

Happy-sad.