If it weren’t for the obvious presence on this site of the fetus alive and kicking inside Sarah’s belly, her series of posts describing her epic battle with infertility could get downright depressing. Without the knowledge of the ultimate happy ending, you’d be within your rights to fault us for taking you to a dark place and leaving you there. We’re aware of this. It’s the precise reason we’re telling this story now, retrospectively, instead of as it happened.
We talked about this. A lot. Sarah really wanted to make our story public as it was happening. At the very least, it would have been a form of catharsis. I certainly saw the logic in that, but for me it wasn’t enough reason to foist that heavy weight on everyone we knew. It felt like too much of a downer to burden our friends with, and there was the risk that if it went on for a long time (as it ultimately did), it would become a defining part of our identity. Every conversation would contain, and probably lead with, a reflection on how the Endeavor To Get Pregnant was going. I wasn’t sure I wanted that. Sarah agreed. So as hard as it was, we kept it to ourselves.
Now that things are rosy, hallelujah, we’re happy to share. I won’t lie, the posts themselves are going to be a little depressing. It is, after all, a story about infertility. Just keep in mind where they’re headed, and hopefully you won’t feel like you’re getting a punch to the gut week after week.
I should also say that we know how lucky we are. Many couples suffer for longer than twenty months. Some try for years and never get to hear the good news. For much of the world, the thought of medical treatment for infertility is an inconceivable luxury. Our frustration is real, but at the same time, we know we’re fortunate to even be able to consider it a treatable problem.
Thanks for reading and understanding why we’re putting this out there. Soon this blog will be filled with nothing but stories of poop, so enjoy the adult talk while you can.