Secondary infertility

A family of robins made a home outside our dining room window.
We break bread and watch as the mother and father care for their little family. One of the eggs was perfect. The delicate shell cracked and a tiny, pink fragile baby bird emerged. The other egg is misshapen…I have my doubts about a chick hatching this Spring.
But still the mother hopefully tends her brood because maybe, just maybe the stars will align and that chick will hatch after all.
I thought about the sweet little robin family when I began the rigorous part of the IVF cycle today.
And I found myself wanting to cry. Not because the needles hurt, but because my longing for a second child is coupled with guilt.
You see, when you have secondary infertility you feel as if you should just be grateful for your perfect little baby. Bask in the blessing and not tempt fate by asking for another.
You sit next to people in the clinic who would love to have a happy, curly haired toddler. So you hide your child in the hall so her laughter or cries won’t cause others pain as they await infertility exams.
You kiss her little palms and pray so hard she’ll soon have a healthy sibling. Then you scurry back inside, sequester yourself in a sterile exam room, put your feet in the stirrups, and stare at the ceiling.
And you worry about your sad little misshapen egg and look toward the end of Spring.



About domesticpolichick

My life is a crazy jumble of sitcom-level domestic hijinks and fast-paced political reporting in the nation's capital. Breastfeeding while doing a phone interview with a senator...yep, I've done it and no, I won't reveal the name. Toddler calling a member of Congress on the cell..yeah, that really did happen. Pregnant in high heels on Capitol Hill trying to chase down a particularly grumpy senator, yeah...that was nuts. But what can I say? I'm just one domestic polichick trying to figure out the work-life balance.
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