Maybe I've Already Paid My Dues

On Monday I'll officially be 12 weeks. Well, that's if you count from my LMP (or last menstrual period, an acronym that I had no idea of until recently. They don't teach you that on the infertility boards, I guess). But if you count from when my retrieval was, then I am technically 12w1d today. Who the hell knows. The point is that the news is starting to filter out. People know.

Here's something my infertile self didn't realize until now: The assvice never stops. People seamlessly carry over from "Relax, it will happen" to "Relax, your baby is probably fine". This usually results in me wanting to punch them in the face. I must be less tolerant these days. Don't they realize that I worry constantly that something awful has happened to my baby? I'll always worry and I don't think that feeling will ever go away, no matter how many times people tell me to "Just relax".

Their second favorite comment is "How are you feeling?". Which is a nice enough thing to ask, I suppose. It's just that the way they ask is it is sort of annoying. They kind of drop their shoulders, tilt their head and get that concerned look in their eye when they ask. Maybe they are expecting me to answer this question with a diatribe of complaints about morning sickness or constipation. Instead I just smile a little and say "I'm fine, thank you".

Which is the truth, by the way. Physically, I am feeling fine. This must be some sort of let down answer though. It's like they want to hear nightmare stories of constant nausea and resisting the urge to hurl in the middle of the meat section at the grocery store. So when they don't get what they want, they proceed to tell me their nightmare stories instead. I feign interest, but really I'm just counting the seconds until the story ends.

A part of me wants to be able to relate to their pregnancy stories. A part of me wants to empathize and nod knowingly, like I've been there before too. But the truth is, compared to the mindfuck that is infertility and all the treatments that go along with it, the first trimester has been a walk in the park for me. Physically, anyway.

I haven't thrown up once. I haven't had any nausea. No massive gaining of weight. No headaches. No spotting. No nothing. Maybe I've paid my dues already by enduring almost 4 years of bullshit, hundreds of shots, tens of thousands of dollars and millions of tears to get here. Maybe for once the gods are smiling on me.

But even if I was the sickest pregnant woman in town, I'd still smile and say "I'm fine" when someone asked me how I was feeling. Seriously. Because having your head in the toilet every day for 8-10 weeks is nothing compared to years of infertility. Doesn't even hold a candle to it.

So I guess the normal preggos can keep their complaints to themselves for now. I'll just be the one over in the corner, smiling a little...and not complaining one bit because I can't believe I've made it this far.