Sometimes, I like to think of myself as a strong, confident, and independent woman. But the fact of the matter is, I’m none of the above. I wish that I could say I deal with disappointment and tragedy with grace and style… but the truth? I’m a sad little pouting girl, crying until I burst a blood-vessel in my face. I get mad at God, infuriated by pregnant women, and hostile toward innocent small children. What is wrong with me? How do others deal with the bumps in life with such poise and dignity?
Lately I’ve been feeling ugly, and skinny, and infertile. All my closest friends are either purposefully or accidentally pregnant. I emerse myself in my husband, as well as finding creative ways to make money. Then I throw a pity party for myself when I think about how the act of conception should be simple, heartfelt, an act of love… not to mention FREE.
Thanks to you all who have either offered encouraging words, donated monetarily, or participated in our baby-fund via backsplash painting. It means so much to know there are so many that are rooting for us, and praying (though I’m doubtful praying does much good these days). I hope to be able to share good news some day soon. Until then, thanks for sticking around as our disheveled, reckless, honest story unfolds.