Infertility Hayride

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Let me start by apologizing profusely for the deluge of autumn-related posts that I have already begun and will continue to thrust upon you. I’ve always loved this season although I never realized it until my early 20’s, when the beautiful feelings of crisp air and impending Halloween and Thanksgiving excitement were no longer blocked by the knot in the pit of my stomach that signaled back-to-school doom.

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Every year at this time I fall into the autumn marketing conspiracy trap. I run to purchase (and eat) every seasonal pancake and pie and I’m a total sucker for everything on the shelf— things I never buy until they have “spooky” or “pumpkin spice” in front of their name. And then there are the autumn activities: The State Fair, The Scarecrow Festival… and won’t you join me for a roll in the hay or at least climb aboard my infertility hayride?

Did you know you might have trouble getting pregnant? I didn’t. (Maybe I should have because I was in my late late late 30’s but I didn’t.) A lot of us don’t. We just decide we want to have a baby. We figure it's just going to take a few simple rolls in the hay and then we'll get pregnant. After all, we've heard the song our whole lives: "First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes me driving an embarrassingly sensible minivan."

So then week after week, month after month, you two roll in that hay and all you have to show for it is a lot of sweaty hay lodged in various parts of your person. So you get yourself up, dust yourself off... and climb aboard the infertility hayride.

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"Move all the way to the front and scooch together."

You guys aren't alone anymore. The hayride is crowded. Dozens, hundreds, thousands are on the ride with you. Some wear scrubs or white lab coats - an odd fashion choice for a bumpy jaunt through the woods. But most of them look just like you, like they shop where you do: At the “Overwhelmed and Exhausted Mess” boutique.

There will be no rolls in this hay. Oh no, we can't have that. All of this hay is neatly packaged. The lab coats will tell you where to sit, when to sit-- when to touch the hay-- when not to touch the hay.

"And while you're sitting there enjoying the ride, we'll go into the hen house and collect some eggs and... no no, shoo rooster shoo... we're not quite ready for you yet. Just hold your horses... and your plastic cup."

The ride will go up hills, into ditches, scrape bottom on a rock or two, smell like manure, and pass your car that's been patiently waiting for you in the parking lot, several times. You'll get rocked from side to side, you'll lean on each other so you don't fall overboard backwards, and all the while a bunch of the lab coats will be steady on their feet, calmly walking up and down the ride. Unlike the polite folks at the food court, they will be taking samples... from every ready, willing, and able female arm crease and ovary they can get their little latex hands on.

And while they seemingly are spending all of their time talking to you about needles: The needles that go into your arm, the needles that go into your stomach and the needles that go into your butt cheek, what they‘re mostly doing is giving you hope so you won’t think that the chances of you ever having a baby are about the same as you finding the one in the haystack.


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 eBook Now Available!

eBook Now Available!

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Hey, I really appreciate you taking a hayride with me through my buffoonery. Come have more laughs at infertility’s expense (and others) by signing on to my newsletter at the bottom of my homepage and checkin’ out my books: http://laughingisconceivable.com.

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