Layin' blame.

We infertiles, we are a powerful people.

It takes a lot of mental fortitude and physical self-control to get us through every single day. Birth announcements, newborns, intrusive questions, and anonymous pregnant bellies loom like icebergs on our horizon. Add to that the bloating, hormonal overload, and anxiety about whatever treatments we are doing, and well.....it's amazing. We are seriously tough cookies.

The first IUI cycle I had...I was so convinced it was going to work. When it didn't, I grieved for almost a week. A well-meaning friend finally coaxed me out of the house and out to a restaurant. When I got out of my car, the first thing I saw was a couple- the woman was about 7 months along, holding the hand of a toddler, while her husband carried another baby.

They sat next to us at lunch.

It's hard not to think that the whole world is against you.

It takes awhile to develop survival skills. To not be visibly upset when your best friend gets pregnant and doesn't tell you until she begins to show. Because she doesn't want to hurt your feelings.

You learn to avoid movies like "Knocked Up". You shop for baby shower gifts online, because the sheer presence of the tiny socks and mobiles on the baby aisles at Target is more than you can take.

I am guilty of most of these. In fact, when a long-lost friend contacted me, I pulled the pink polka-dotted missive from my mailbox and stuck it in a drawer. I was certain that it was a birth announcement- "It's a Girl!!!"

As it turns out, when I finally had the guts to open it, it was a note saying that she was getting a divorce, and was moving back to town. Oops.

The suspicion, superstition, resentment, and straight-up jealousy that go along with being in this situation are freakish, unpredictable, and hard to deal with. The desire to be a parent is so overwhelming. Then when your head clears, you try to atone, either to yourself or the universe, for the poisonous thoughts inside your head.

That's the worst part. I blame myself. I blame myself for having some nameless thing wrong with me, for possibly depriving my husband for the chance to have children, for being weird and cranky and devoid of energy, for causing us to blow our budget every month.

I think back to some of the stupid things I have done in my life. Maybe it's some kind of karmic payback? Is it because I stopped going to church? Maybe it's my diet, or that I am overweight.
Maybe I would be a crappy parent. Maybe I am doing penance for something.

I desperately want a reason. And the truth is, there is no reason. There's nothing to blame it on, I am doing everything I can to rectify the situation, but still, there is that feeling.

It just is.

I know it's not just me who feels this way. One of my dearest friends had multiple miscarriages, and she was convinced that they were caused by her love of Diet Coke. (The fact that she is Mormon might have something to do with it.)

When she finally confessed her theory to me, I blurted out, "Sweetie...crack whores have babies every day!"

I need to remember to say that to myself.