I used to have dreams, big dreams.
I thought I would do great things, have a great career, be a wondermom to a gaggle of kids.
As I got older, I consciously made life choices to make that wondermom fantasy a reality: I chose not to go to medical school or veterinary school because I wanted to be able to stay home with my kids and not have loads of student loan debt. I chose to give up my teaching career and move halfway across the country because I wanted Hubby and I to be able to afford a house on one income. I left my family, my friends behind to chase a dream. It seemed so within reach, so inevitable.
I was so fucking naive.
Now, my biggest dream is to learn how to live like a normal person, in a world with real live babies and pregnant coworkers with huge bellies that seem to have their own gravitational pull (seriously - she bumps into me with that thing every. single. day). I dream of not crying in the bathroom at work, of not putting up these walls that close me off into my own little world of pain and sadness. I dream of learning to live childless.
I dream of not wanting to beat the fuck out of people who still think it's okay to make fun of, stigmatize and marginalize the infertile. Oh yeah, fuck you, PETA.
It seems so hopeless. I don't mean the actually getting pregnant and staying that way long enough to have a baby. That dream is dead. The living part, that's what I'm struggling with. I don't think I can do it.