It’s amazing how infertility affects you, or at least how it affects me. Even now when we should be the happiest we’ve ever been, there’s a massive shadow of doubt hanging over our heads. A feeling that this can’t be real or that it will all go horribly wrong.
While most newly pregnant mothers are celebrating, revelling in the happiness of a new conception, I’m flitting between small bursts of joy and a much larger storm of endless worry.
While other new parents-to-be have no trouble browsing the baby aisles and starting a shopping list, I feel like an imposter, some strange sicko perving on baby wear for some baby they will never have.
I feel that to shop, to shortlist, to even talk about our forthcoming baby will jinx the entire thing, that this is really just some cruel joke someone is playing on us and the brief moments of joy that we do have will be ripped away from us in the blink of an eye.
I want to give my mum a baby bumble bee outfit as a way to tell her we’re pregnant but I just can’t bring myself to buy one (at least not until after my blood test) as it feels as though that will spark the end of this magical thing we never thought would be. It must be an amazing feeling to take a pregnancy test as fact instead of a small moment of hope that flits away in an instant.
I feel guilty that at night when I come home from work I want to chat to my hubby about the nursery, the furniture, how we’ll tell people. I can’t bring myself to say “when our baby’s born” or even “our baby”, instead my sentences start “If this is real” or “If this is really happening.”
I feel the perfectly normal cramps of progesterone and pregnancy and am agonising over ectopic pregnancies and their symptoms instead of welcoming in what they truly mean.
I’m constantly nervous that this will go wrong.