As I wrote earlier, infertility is always there. Like a trusty sidekick it hops along behind me shouting, “Wait for me!” It cuddles up next to me when I hear a pregnancy or birth announcement from a friend, pass a cute baby on the street, or watch a pregnant stranger as she absently rubs her bump. It comes after me in my  dreams and clouds our plans for the future. it makes me second guess my body, my feminity, and my hopes.

With certain people or situations I have a better chance of leaving infertility panting and hobbling on the sidelines while I cruise ahead having a great time. I have a few friends that are nowhere near the baby-making stage. They are my age or younger. Two are single, one just got engaged. They seem to be my going out friends- in fact, I’m getting drinks and seeing a movie with one tonight. Especially since Honey Bee is so often away for work I find myself seeking out my girlfriends for company and activities probably more than most coupled people do.

With these women I don’t often bring up my infertility. On the outside we appear to be at different stages of our lives-me the more settled friend, looking to build a family; them the single women looking for love. And yet, I somehow feel closer to my two single friends traversing the dating scene* as all of our friends slowly pair off than I do to the newly married couples blindly timing their assumed conception dates to best fit their vacation schedules.

They are great women-talented, smart, educated, funny, and as it unfortunately needs to be noted in our culture-very attractive, and yet they haven’t found partners. They are doing all the right things: meeting new people, going on blind dates and set-ups by friends, signing up online, and even after following all of the conventional advice and putting forth so much effort they’re still single while others in our circle seem to effortlessly fall into comfortable partnerships. I know my two friends sometimes think I don’t know how they feel, but I do. Feelings can be mutual even if circumstances are different.

 

*not that it really matters, but for the record, let it be known that I struggled through my fair share of bad dates, match.com and other dating sites, and miserable set-ups (including one by an old hair stylist that lied about my age and set me up with a homophobe, but that’s a story for another post). You’d think I could get a break on the baby thing given how much I suffered while single.

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