Genetics

What a cruel twist of fate. My mother, bless her big-hearted soul, has passed on to me, her eldest daughter, a great many of her genetic traits. We have the same eyes, the same hair, the same body shape (*snort*, thanks, Mom!), the same wonderfully witty sense of humor (okay, I'm stretching here). I am, in more ways I like to admit, a younger version of her. Except, of course, in one very important aspect.

Between the ages of 17 and 21 (when she had her tubes tied), my mother was pregnant four times. Had she not opted to end her reproductive streak early, I may very well be the eldest child in a family that rivals the infamous Duggars. She is the epitome of fertility, the consummate earth-mother. Some women have high-powered careers, some women are a whiz in the kitchen -- my mother creates beautiful babies. It's a gift.

A gift that, tragically, she has not passed on to me. At the ripe-old age of 26 (almost 27), I have had a grand total of (hmm. . .let me see. . .) NO PREGNANCIES WHATSOEVER.

For the average 26-going-on-27-year-old woman, this is probably not much of a problem. Many women my age have spent the last ten years decidedly trying to avoid pregnancy. For my husband and I,though, who have been actively “trying” for five-plus years (and not NOT trying for a sixth), this is a MAJOR problem. As in a life-changing, exorbitantly-expensive, fill the meds-that-make-me-crazy prescription AGAIN, run-to-the-doctor-at-the-whim-of-my-cycles kind of problem.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my mother. I talk to her almost every day. She is the one of the few people on this planet who loves me no matter what and almost always knows just what to say. I am not angry with her for being what she is – a born mother. I am, however, unreasonably jealous. I would gladly exchange the way-too-big breasts and the adult-onset acne (a stellar combination)that she DID give me for her ability to pee on a stick and produce not one but TWO pink lines.

The worst part of this genetic anomoly is that it makes talking to my mother, my best friend, unbearably difficult. It’s not her fault – I know this --but how can she, a Fertile Myrtle, possibly understand how it feels to be a Not-So-Fertile Myrtle? How can anyone who hasn't had the pleasure of being welcomed into this alternately insanely-hopeful / devastatingly-depressing club truly understand?

At this point in the journey, there is only one thing I know for sure: if EVERYONE had to endure what we infertiles go through in order to procreate, we could end overpopulation in a single generation. This road is not for the weak --at least that's what I'm told. So, I tell myself I am strong. But, I'm not sure that I believe me.

The truth is, I am scared. No, I'm terrified. Shriekingly, maddeningly, positively terrified. The "what-ifs" run a constant loop through my head that even the most mind-numbing daytime television can't erase. So the question becomes, how do you ride this crazy rollercoaster called INFERTILITY without losing your lunch (or your sanity)?

The answer: you blog.