Infertility, Parenting

I Want a Box to Check When We’ve Finished Hurting

“We’re pregnant.” I hear the hesitation in her voice over the phone. She’s ecstatic but hurting because she knows she’s hurting me. I don’t want my hurt to hurt her, too. I’m sick of hurting and being fragile. 

Fragile is for teacups. I don’t want to be a teacup. I want to be galvanized steel. (I’m not actually sure what galvanized means, but it sounds strong and it starts with “gal.” I’m a gal, and I want to be GALvanized and strong and stuff. Fragile starts with “frag” and sounds like a swear word from Battlestar Galactica. I’m fragging sick of being fragile.)

I assure her how happy I am for her, hang up the phone, and roll over on the couch, flipping through the channels on the TV, searching for numbness. Another pregnant friend. How many years had I been trying? It wasn’t fair. READ MORE at Let Every Heart…

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