Member-only story
When You Chase Two Moments, But Cannot Run That Fast
About a year ago, I wrote something on how you measure a year, like in the Rent song:
What I was getting at in that post — probably poorly — is that a lot of people associate a year with 2–3 specific memories, i.e. “I met this person,” or “I had a kid,” or “I switched to this job.” When you get pretty deep into infertility bullshit, where I’ve been for 3–4 years now, you measure a lot of years by, “Well, did we have a kid?” The answer typically comes back no. It’s harder at the end of the year, i.e. the holidays, because most people really only associate the holidays with kids.
Well, here I am 13 days from the end of another year. No kid, no pregnancy, life goes on. I got two new jobs since September — four new jobs if you count bartending gigs over the holiday season — and that’s good. I drink sometimes, but not as much to excess as I once did. I think I have a clearer picture of who my friends are and who couldn’t care less that I exist in the universe. I’m back on LinkedIn, which is … something we celebrate? I’m not sure on that last one.
Life is OK. It’s not great. It’s not awful. It’s OK. But … yea, there’s a big gap in the infertility side, for sure.
Am I resentful that my sperm is slow and plodding? Probably a little bit. On my worst days, probably a lot bit. I think of it sometimes less as “resentment” and more about not understanding how the broader universe fits together. We frame…
