An Ode To Fitting In

This will be a slightly rant-tastic post.

Mostly because I clearly woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

Or maybe because I worked six 14-hour shifts this past week.

Or maybe because I'm just frustrated today.

I don't know.

But whatever the reason,

be warned.

Today I really hate it that I can't get pregnant.

I know I talk about this all the time,

and I know this makes me a whiny person.

But today, I'm just mad at the world.

I have seven friends who have already had babies this year,

four more who have announced their happy news all over facebook in the past week,

and five more who are expecting in the next few months.

I am literally surrounded by everyone's happiness but my own.

And it's crushing.

I want to delete my facebook,

just so I don't delete every friend anyway because I'm sick of seeing their hourly baby pictures

or hourly status updates.

I am so sick of failing every single month.

Failing as a woman.

Failing as a wife.

Failing to myself.

For something I can't even control.

Being a military wife makes it even worse,

because you literally don't fit in unless you have a young child.

Our spouse's group online is pretty much just there so people can coordinate playdates

or ask advice of other moms.

Even our adult bible studies that we used to love

are now just playdates for toddlers

or forums for everyone else to talk about how great being a parent is.

Gee, I wish I could contribute to those conversations.

Oh wait. We can't.

So we just sit, and listen, and feel as out of place as we are.

I get asked at my job daily whether I have children,

and honestly I'm sick of responding with,

"no, but it's not for lack of trying".

I thought I had gotten over this.

I thought I had come to some kind of peace with it when we hit the year mark.

I guess I didn't.

I'm bitter.

I'm angry.

I'm sad.

I'm jealous.

I'm resentful.

And I feel like an outcast.

 If someone tells me they are pregnant, my first instinct is to practically shut them out of my life

just so I don't have to live with the daily reminders that everyone else's body seems to function like it should.

When you say, "Being a mother is the best job in the world!"

I think, "I'm sure it is - I wish I knew."

When you say, "I love seeing my husband with our son!"

I think, "My husband should have married someone who could have given him a son."

When you say, "One day it will happen for you!"

I think, "How in the world can you possibly know that?"

When you say, "It's only been a little over a year, you know."

I think, "Obviously you didn't know this pain for a year or you wouldn't say that."

I'm happy for other people,

but at the same time, I'm hurting so much for myself.

I know it's selfish.

But some months, it just sucks.

This is one of them.

This month, I realized that I didn't even allow myself to think I could be pregnant.

I just went and bought pads and tampons,

and prepared myself for Aunt Flo's monthly visit.

I realized this month that I don't even think it can happen for me.

I don't know how people do it,

who actively try for years and years

and live with this disappointment

and don't go insane.

We're barely over a year of trying and I feel like a shattered vase some amateur glued back together,

that is just waiting to fall back into a million pieces again.

I want it so bad.

I crumble to the floor in tears whenever I realize that I have no control over this,

that my greatest dream,

the only desire I have for my life here on earth,

may never come true

and there's nothing I can do about it.

I feel trapped

and helpless,

while I watch 70% of the world around me experience what I may never know.

I have dreams about being pregnant so real I wake up and reach for my belly.

I'm sorry for the rant.

I'm sure my husband is sick of hearing me say all of this at least once a week,

 and there aren't any other friends going through the same thing I can talk to.

Everyone we were trying with this past year got pregnant.

So all I have left is a random rant on a blog every once in a while.

Plus, it's my party and I can cry if I want to, right?

I just hate living in a world of constantly having to put on a smile

and be super happy for everyone else,

when I'm drained inside.

I just want to know how it feels

to not be empty.