Aubrey the Infertile

Lately I've felt as though I'm living two different lives - but they're two different lives that switch from one to the other oh-so-quickly, in just an instant.

I open my eyes every morning as an infertile, barren, scorned, sad and desperate woman.  I get in the shower, praying the whole time for my miracle baby.  I blow dry my hair in our spare bedroom (which should be a nursery by now) while Nick showers.  When he gets out, he always asks how I am and the answer is always the same:  not good.  He doesn't have to ask why. 

We drive to work together and while Nick listens to sports radio I check blogs.  I'm still living the sad and pitiful life of an infertile. 

I get to work and my day of insurance starts.  Joy.  Infertility leaves me as I begin to answer e-mail after e-mail and my never ending ringing phone.  Instead of focusing on cycle days, CCRM and my overall sadness for being baby-less, I'm now focusing on fixing my clients' billing, claims and contract issues.  But at the drop of a hat, my life as an infertile comes right back.  Literally, just like that.  As I'm being berated by clients with problems that seem so minimal compared to the problem of a woman trying with all of her might to get pregnant but can't, I quickly (un)welcome Aubrey the Infertile back into my life.  Aubrey the Infertile sticks around until I'm consumed again by my work. 

Throughout the day I'm fighting Aubrey the Infertile off.  It's so difficult.  My infertility is always on my mind.  My sadness is always there, as well.  Yes, sometimes it's covered up by my trying to act happy in front of someone who may not know any of what I'm going through i.e. certain co-workers, my clients, brokers, a lot of friends and even some extended family of ours, but it's still there.  Its always there.  I try my hardest to smile as someone at work tells me a story about their adorable children.  But as soon as they turn around to walk away, Aubrey the Infertile is back, even more scorned than before.  Typically I say something under my breath like you lucky a-hole and then bury myself back in my work.  Which helps until a co-worker tells me she's taking a week off in April because it's her kids' April vacation.  Again, (un)welcome back Aubrey the Infertile.  I immediately think great, take a week off to spend with your kids, you lucky bleep.  I'll be taking a few weeks off soon just to try to get pregnant.  My vacation will be in Colorado this year.  With doctor's appointments and shots every day.  But the odds are against me.  So don't worry, we probably won't have to fight over who gets to take April vacation week off in the years to come.

Finally my work day ends and Nick and I drive home.  Aubrey and Aubrey the Infertile are too exhausted to say much of anything other than ideas for what to make for dinner.  We eat and a few times during the week I go to my barre workout class.  I'm ready to focus on Aubrey, not Aubrey the Infertile.  I'm ready to just forget.  About everything.  About my infertility.  Until the most beautiful, thin and visibly happy girl picks the matte next to mine (I say 'girl' because she's probably at least five years younger than me).  She's talking to her friend about her most perfect kids at home.  I want to barf.  On the other side of me is someone who I learn is pregnant five minutes into the class because the instructor calls out modifications for those who are expecting.  Again, I want to barf.  I can't escape it.  I can't get away from fertile myrtles.  I can't get away my own infertility.

Infertility is me.  It's who I am.  I guess there is no escaping it.  It's my life.

It's my life at home, at work, at social functions, at the gym. 

It's my life when I'm talking to a client, to a family member, to a dear friend. 

It was my life then, it is my life now and it will even be my life in the future, regardless of what happens. 

But regardless of what does happen, I just want to wake up one day and when Nick asks me how I am, I want to tell him that I'm good.  And I want to mean it.  And then I want to have to blow dry my hair in the bathroom while he showers, because I won't want to wake my miracle baby.