I think my head knows it. I’m SURE my uterus knows it. But my heart just cannot grasp the realization that I am not pregnant. And I don’t want it to. Not yet, I’m just not ready.

I’ve spent the past couple of months reading about the long and painful journeys of people who have struggled with infertility and punkass reproductive systems for years. I am so scared that we are in the very early stages of that same battle.

Genetics are working against me for sure. My mother was pregnant 8 (yes, EIGHT) times. Ever heard me talk about any other siblings? Nope, just the one darling and perfect sister (who…totally off the subject…emailed me a picture of her in her wedding dress yesterday. NOT. PREPARED. DOES SHE NOT REALIZE SHE IS STILL FIVE YEARS OLD??? Sorry, moving on.) Not to mention she (back to the mother now, not the sister) suffered a bout of post partum so violent that I remember it and I was less than 3 years old at the time.

Those of you who are so brave to share your heartache with people you don’t know, thank you so much. Your pain of trying over and over to bring a child into this world, will those children ever understand how badly they were wanted, wished for, and prayed for? Will they ever understand the tears that their parents shed over then before they were even conceived? You are such strong people.

I am afraid that I am not going to be as strong as you are. Maybe this is some cosmic way of telling me that “No, my dear, you were correct in your original and long-held belief that you are NOT mother material. Continue on with your dogs and your cats and your spoiling of everyone else’s children because, frankly, as a mother, you would be a disaster.” But I don’t think that’s the case. I don’t think that life would have led me to this incredible man who is already a father without a child. Patrick is so gentle, so kind, what if I’m never able to give him what he so desperately wants? Will I be enough?

Because sure, adoption is technically an option. But…have you met me? Do you HONESTLY think that some agency is going to meet me and say, now THIS crazy bitch…THIS is who we need to give this baby to. Sure she can’t be bothered to remember to vacuum her floors or to water her plants but a baby, now THAT is what she needs.

Obviously we aren’t to some sort of breaking point. We haven’t had near the struggles that I’ve read about through other people’s blogs. Maybe we won’t. Maybe in spite of the Clomid turning me into the spawn of satan for a few days, it’ll work. (Thank goodness that part wears off before its time to get to work with the impregnation because if I were Patrick I wouldn’t want to be within a 5 mile radius of me when I’m taking that shit.) But I’m scared. And not all that optimistic. Because sure, I talk a tough game and put up a good front, but I’m a pansy people. I don’t have the strength that I’ve read about others having.

Anyway, to all of you who have shared what could have been a very private and painful ordeal, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You give me hope and strength. But most of all, you make me feel less alone in this.