I look like one of them now. A fertile. To the unknowing eye, I’m just another chic with a baby. In some respects, it’s okay. I’m just a mommy. The path doesn’t matter. But it does matter because even though I’m a mommy, I’m still an infertile. And I’m reminded that time and time again while I play house in a world of fertile moms.
Now that I have a baby, it’s better. The bitter has tamed down a bit. I can feel happiness for others more easily now. There is a peace. Because regardless of what the future holds, I am Max’s momma (and Abby’s too, but the world doesn’t count her).
The other day I was in a local store picking out a wrap in which to wear Max. And the woman serving me while breastfeeding her toddler, flippantly said in regards to whatever it was she was talking about, “I’ll have another baby”. And I was taken aback by it in such a strange way. She was so sure. She, like so many, didn’t give it a second thought — there will simply be another.
Oh to be so confident.
I haven’t got it yet, but a friend asked me the other day if people have started asking when/if I’ll be having the next one yet. She said it started for her at the 3 month mark. C has got it though and took great joy in making his co-worker squirm with his response “well, we’ve got one more in the freezer, so we’ll see”.
I think I’ll steal his response when the time comes.