It’s been a while. You’d be forgiven for thinking I had given up or been secretly successful. that happens sometimes, did you know. Bloggers with fertility and conception issues just stop talking about it because they’ve won and can’t say so yet or they’ve lost and their defeated heart just won’t let them say any more. Just to clear things up. I’m neither of these. I just stopped sharing because it was safer, I felt too exposed sometimes.

And being probed is hardly riveting blog content.

The sharing was inviting conversations and commentary when all I really wanted was commiseration. A pat on the head and a there there, that sucks. This was a place to let the feelings out and have them heard. Maybe give someone else going through what we are going through a voice for a moment. Someone who has never experienced it some understanding where there is none.

This is our third childless Christmas.

We will have a fourth ttc anniversary next year, still childless.

All I can hope for now is that next year is our year. Because I’m not too sure if I have the guts to hope again. The other day I laughed spitefully in the face of someone who said maybe I was next. Haha. Fat chance, I muttered harshly. Sneer on my mouth. I never wanted to be a cynic. But it turns out, I’m hopeless. Without hope for the moment.

It could be worse, I suppose. I could have no course of action left. I could be going about my merry way not even knowing I was a hopeless, cynical grinch. I may have suffered more at the hands of loss.  I could want it more than I do and have nothing to fill the space. I could ache for it every single day. I’m lucky in a lot of ways because it’s nothing. A big, fat, hollow nothing.

Do you think it’s ever possible to just enjoy what you have fully when something you want is missing? Humour me, won’t you. Tell me what you really think. 

  • Loulou

    I truly don’t know lovely one, I can only hope! I do know that even when you grasp everything you’ve ever wanted it doesn’t quite feel as it should because fear, grief, loss & uncertainty taunt you every day & threaten to take the floor out from beneath you. I guess you just keep moving forward one foot in front of the other because standing still isn’t an option. Life tends to leave you behind.

    • It does, leave us behind, I think. So one step after we go. Let’s hope, shall we. xo

  • I honestly don’t know…even with the boys I still have an ache deep down that won’t ever go…I try and tell myself every day that they are enough…but really? They aren’t. They aren’t mine forever and that breaks my heart.
    loving you

    • Loving you too Sass. I hear you, I’ve considered your situation myself over the past few months. If it would work for us, for in the meantime. If it WAS just the meantime. I’m not sure it’s possible for me to love and let go. You’re a braver woman that I and doing something so important. Maybe one day. xo

  • Sorry you’re going through such a tough time – it really does suck!

    I think you grow to enjoy things in different ways. I think, maybe, you find different things to enjoy.

    • It does, right? Thank you. You may be right on that one. Different things, for sure.

  • I lost my first and then only child at age 5, 3 weeks before Christmas 13 years ago. I refused to cave in and took one day at a time. It caused a career hiccup (I ran away to Sydney and then 4 months later ran back home), but brought back into the arms of my high school sweetheart. We have now been married for 10 years, I have battled step-parenting a child 2 years older than my own, and then we had our own fertility battle. Thanks be to Clomid we now have 2 boys aged 7 and 9, but every single day of the last 13 years I have wondered “what if?”, moreso this year as he would have turned 18 last month. Our battles make us – but I won’t ever let them win.

    • I’m sorry for your loss Karen, it is unimaginable. Our battles do make us, I agree with that. Our joys too. Thanks for adding your story to this post. It’s much appreciated. xo

  • Never give up! My husband & I were together 7 years when we got married and would have been beside ourselves with a Honeymoon baby. Lots of medical dramas later and busted ovaries we decided to go with adoption. Heartbreaking. At one of the sessions I listened to all the bitter women who had let this destroy them and vowed that it wouldn’t be me. So I picked myself up and started hoping again. My theory was that there were lots of great kids in my life {not the same…I know…I get it}, I had a good life. I had WON the freaking husband lottery {sounds like you have too}.

    So I embraced that and meant it in my heart. And I hoped and prayed on the inside with everything crossed. This year, the week before our 7th wedding anniversary the call came and a week later I had a lovely blonde boy in my arms. He has changed my life and made me so happy. We all take a different journey, and it can be really shit watching everyone else have bubbas {especially the ones that always said they didn’t really want kids}. I cried in the car on the way to work, I was angry and sad. I ached for that unknown baby. But I always left that window of hope open…I really hope that in the coming year your wish comes true.

    • I am so glad you’ve welcome your boy into your family after your patience. SO glad. We certainly do take different paths. I hear you loud and clear here. Ached is such a fitting word. Thanks for adding to the conversation and sharing your window of hope with us.

  • bmidontcare

    Yes, sweet, you can be happy. I’m happy now. Now that we’ve truly given up, not just stopped trying but actively preventing pregnancy, I’ve been able to cultivate my happy. That doesn’t mean I don’t miss my babies or wish I had one sometimes, but in my heart, I am content, even glad most of the time. It comes, but only after rock bottom – and I don’t think I could do rock bottom again, sometimes I’m surprised I made it out the first time. <3

  • My boyfriend and I have been together almost 13 years now. We haven’t been sexually active the entire time, but you know, it’s been awhile. We kid each other about it and just shrug whenever friends or family ask us about not having a baby yet, but in the back of minds we do wonder – why don’t we? We’re hiding behind the excuse of being not married yet. But how long will that still hold? I guess we are afraid to confront that issue. Someday I will have to face it too. Thank you for sharing your journey.

    • You’re so welcome. I know what you mean, Hubby and I were together 5 years, married for 3 before we actively started trying to fall pregnant. And here we are almost 4 years later. Sometimes it can be an indicator sometimes, not so much. Good luck to you when you’re time comes.

  • Sam-o

    Ovaries suck. Uncooperative buggers. Sx

  • Goodness me honey I love you and want this for you so bad, so, so bad. I had another paragraph and more I wanted to add and tried to say but I just don’t know how to put it. I feel more than qualified to answer the questions of loss and grief, as you know our story and history. But to comment on infertitlity or childlessness (despite losses and so forth) I feel I shouldn’t because despite four or so years of ups and downs we have two earthbound children. All I can tell you is that I am forever holding your dreams in my heart and after having some more time with you and Kel albeit a brief amount of time on the radar, you guys deserve to have these dreams answered and would be amazing parents. All our love my sweet.

  • Oh gosh this is hard. Thinking positive thoughts for you. I don’t know the answer to the question but recent events in my family have pointed out starkly to me that the only universal human experience is grief in one form or another, and in some way it is unavoidable in everyones life. But having said that don’t give up, there is still hope! x

    • It is, right? A tough one to answer. Hard to ask too, let me tell you. Grief is absolutely universal. Love to your family and the times they’re in.

  • sheribombblog

    I can’t even begin to understand what this must be putting you both through. It REALLY sucks. Sometimes it feels like there is no justice in the world. Like you just want to say WTF universe, seriously!? I don’t know the answer to the above question and I don’t really know that there is much anyone can say to make you feel better but my heart aches for you and there is not much in this world I have hoped for as much or as strongly as I hope this for you. Big big love Suger xo

    • Thank you Sheri, me toooooo! You know!? Often I think, WTF, what the f’ing f. Ugh.

  • Again, different circumstances, but I know very well what it is like to have a deep, and at times desperate, wanting for something. I don’t know the answer to your questions, all I can say is that over time I have come to a place of experiencing being content and being happy without that one thing. For me it has not been a permanent state of being, but they do seem to be more frequent and with less time between them. However, in the last few weeks the longing has been prominent and at the fore again. Those times can really suck. That aside, maybe as we grow older we just learn to accept things as they are and become content in that. I do think happiness and contentment are choices we make, I don’t think it just magically happens one day.

    • Different but the same, right. Longing and wanting and missing and heartbreak are the same things. I don’t think it just happens either. I think you decide to live a different way. xo

  • I love you so much and want this more for you than anyone else. You will be a total kick arse mum some day!

    • Thank you. I think so too. I have grand plans for screwing up the next generation, I’d hate to see them go to waste. 😉

  • Zia

    This may be a question with an obvious answer, or one you aren’t prepared to share, but have you seen a fertility specialist?

    • We are in this process. It’s just not something I details here any more. For my own sanity, in a lot of ways. But thank you for asking. xo

      • Zia

        I totally get that. I’m 8 months in to treatment after years of ttc, miscarriages and heartache. All the best to you. xo

  • Ginny of ginplustonic

    YES it’s possible. At the end of it all, life is what you did with what you had. And that’s what will matter to you.

    • Good to know. Love the bit about life is what you did with what you had. My favourite. xo

  • Rach aka Stinkbomb

    “I could want it more than I do and have nothing to fill the space. I could ache for it every single day.”

    That’s me, wanting it so much and having nothing to fill the space. I feel that ache in my heart every day – I wake up with it and I go to sleep with it and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I’ve hit rock bottom several times [and am currently residing there re this matter] but being content with my lot in life still seems so far away. I envy bmidontcare because I WANT to cultivate my happiness SO much, it’s the one thing I crave more than a baby itself – to be happy with my lot in life, to be content.

    It sucks arse that so many of us can relate to you and your words.

    Big hugs my friend and lots of love xxx

    • I’m sorrier than you can know to hear that this is where you are right now lovely. And that so many know what it feels like breaks my heart too. Big love to you. Thank you for sharing. xo

  • Love you suger! Thanks for sharing this little update of where you are at with us. *pat on head* that sucks! 🙁 <3 xx

  • I have been writing my comment in my head for ages and it either comes out condescending or just not quite as powerful as I want so I will just say I love you and am sending baby vibes your way xoxo

  • Pingback: How to survive infertility and keep on smiling {and mean it!} | Life.Love.Sim()

  • I’m so sorry, it absolutely blows that anybody has to struggle to conceive and I know it must be hard on both of you. We took six years to success and then a nightmare of failed, cancelled cycling and loss for a sibling… I should be happy with one but there is a part of me that is empty, feeling incomplete. I’m not sure it will ever go away. Christmas is the pits, I hope you get through the holiday season without too much time spent aching and I hope your journey of treatment is short and successful. Mostly though I hope you know its ok to be bitter and cynical, to ache when you do – I think that’s what keeps me sane the rest of the time, acknowledging that it hurts and it’s ok to hurt.

    • It sucks AND blows. Absolutely. Thanks for sharing and for your kind words. They’re much appreciated. Sending you all the best of wishes too.

  • Its taken many goes at writing this, it just doesn’t come across right. Ttc is such an emotional thing, i’ve been trying myself for the last few years, i can understand the ups and downs and the whole rollercoster ride you are on. It plays on my mind all the time, and now i’m in my 30’s it freaks me out even more.

    Fingers crossed that 2013 is the year for you and everyone else who is ttc, may it be the year of loads of babies xxx

    • Comments on this kind of post can be a bit like that, I know. I do it myself. thanks for taking the time. All the very best with your rollercoaster. Fingers firmly crossed for 2013.

  • My dear friend … altho my path is different than your own – when you asked that boldfaced question, I had to stop & answer — yeahhh … since my beloved Dad passed in late 2007, it has actually taken me some time (and I’m not even close to being all the way there yet – not all the time) to be able to enjoy something fully when someone who is very dear to me, is missing … I enjoyed going to the town’s Christmas tree lighting last night, but it would have been better w/ Dad (“ah, c’mon, you made a better Santa than THAT guy!”) … I get it.

    • Thank you for sharing this. It’s so important for all of us to remember that there are similar experiences to ours everywhere, even if they aren’t the same. Hugs too you at what is a difficult time of year for those who are grieving. xo

  • Melissa Mitchell

    Nothing but commiseration here. I hope I never said the wrong thing (trying to go back through and think….). I’m sorry you haven’t gotten a baby yet. I honestly am.

    • thank you. You’re a gem. Me too.

      Don’t be silly. There’s no such thing really as the wrong thing to say when you mean well. Or I hope not, I’m always putting my foot in it.