Spoiler alert! Last night’s dinner was a fertile fiasco. I don’t think I can hang with Fertile Franny anymore.
Our dinner began as many dinners at restaurants do: the waiter came to take our drink orders. New Breastfeeding Mommy and Pregnant Fertile Franny ordered waters. I decided to order water “for now”. I was leaving my options open in case I would like a drink, but truth be told, I just wasn’t feeling boozy.
I made a passing remark on my last post that I should order water at dinner instead of booze as a foil to trap Fertile Franny into mentioning something about whether or not I might be pregnant, or trying to get pregnant. I was half kidding. I didn’t really expect someone to use that as an excuse to bring up pregnancy within 30 seconds…
The next sentence out of Fertile Franny’s mouth after our waters were delivered was, “Well, looks like someone isn’t drinking. Is there something you’d like to tell us?”
This is where it gets shitty, folks.
I took a deep breath, thought of the blog entry I just posted 30 minutes before, and told Fertile Franny and New Mommy pretty much note-for-note what I had said I would say if she asked me if I was pregnant yet. The only thing I didn’t count on was that actually talking about those things aloud as I stared at Fertile Franny’s 8 month pregnant belly would make me tear up.
Fertile Franny looked like a dear in headlights and said, “It’s ok…sometimes it takes a while…” Gee, thanks. She also threw in “My boss had a miscarriage” at some point in my infertility diatribe which I assume was an attempt to let me know she was “down” with us infertiles? I’ve never had a miscarriage, thank God, but listening to her bring up her boss’ miscarriage as if it would be some sort of consolation prize that I wasn’t alone, or that she “gets it” was sickening.
New Mommy (who had some semblance of a clue because it took her 1 year to get pregnant) felt awful and immediately told me we didn’t have to talk about it anymore, but I’m so sick of repressing this shit and acting like there is nothing wrong that I didn’t stop…I just kept babbling about anovulation, PCOS, Clomid, cysts…
I finally pulled myself together, and we were able to move on–if moving on means talking exclusively about new motherhood and how Fertile Franny’s 3 year old son hasn’t been listening in Circle Time at his preschool. Or how Fertile Franny’s son was so well behaved on the plane to Hawaii last month. Or how Fertile Franny’s son doesn’t pick up his toys. Or his shitting patterns. You get the gist….
I’m trying to pull the positives out of this situation, although I don’t see many. I don’t think they’re going to be calling me to hang out any time soon given I’m now the infertile pariah who has awkward crying dinners…but I guess that’s a good thing. Along with FF’s total obliviousness about infertility, she also has nothing to talk about other than her 3 year old which I find incredibly dull. I honestly don’t think I could ever be a mom who just talked about her kids. Turns out I have very little in common with Fertile Franny.
I just wish I could have held it together at the dinner table a bit better.
Instead, I looked like this:
I’m human, though…and this stuff hurts so bad. I don’t want to put on a happy mask about it anymore. I can’t pitch my voice up two octaves and say everything is fine. Hiding behind the mask every time someone asks when I’m going to have a baby has been making me more and more depressed. There are great friends out there who wouldn’t feel uncomfortable with me being emotional about this stuff–and these are the people I need to surround myself with at this time.
I’ll just file this away under Reason # 5,682 why Infertility sucks.