Feeling left behind

Some time ago, I read a painful post about a woman feeling left behind.  Her infertility group was pregnant.  I read this with compassion, hoping one day she can get to where I am now.

I don’t feel left behind anymore.  I just feel like I’m on a different journey, I’ve taken a different fork in the road, and I’m moving ahead, parallel to my friends with children, but not further ahead or further behind.  Their road is well-trodden, well-signposted, and with lots of support stops on the way.  It isn’t always easy – there are hurdles and ambushes and disappointments on this path, as there are on mine.  But generally it is more populated, and the people walking this path are doing so with friends, and family.  They’re getting encouraging messages from people who are a bit further up the road.  They’re also encouraging people from my road to cross over, telling us how easy it is, and how we’ll regret it if we don’t, letting us feel their pity for walking our road.

But those of us on my road can’t, or don’t want to, cross over.  And the view from our road is fabulous, but different.  Sure, we have the occasional pothole, and we often walk this path alone, without the hordes of friends and family over on the other road.  And, for those of us who had to veer off the other road, onto this one, not by choice, the way is initially very steep.  But eventually it evens out, and we stop and take a breath, sit and watch the scenery.  And it is amazing, unexpected, and breathtaking.  And we smile.

Making plans

Life isn’t what I planned. 

This isn’t what I planned. 

I always planned to have lots of babies. 

I only ever wanted to be a mother.

These are comments I read from women who are struggling with infertility, or even those who are now coming to terms and moving on with their “no kidding” lifestyles.

And I look at friends who are parents.  Life isn’t the non-stop joy, supportive husband, and happy and healthy kids that they had planned either.  It may not be popular to acknowledge this, but there are plenty of parents who wish they weren’t parents, who find it hard.  Maybe they hadn’t actually planned to be parents.  Or they had planned it, but being a parent hasn’t turned out the way they thought.  But I guess they make the most of it and look at the bright side - as I do now, making the most of my life without kids. 

It's all any of us can do - live our lives as well as we can, with what we've got.

And I’m reminded that “Life is what happens while we’re making plans.”

(Currently I’m making no plans whatsoever ... in Greece!)

Reproductive biology

Dr Vintage presented an analogy that I rather liked:

Women’s bodies, when it comes to reproduction, are like highly-tuned Ferraris.  We’re complex,  high-performance, temperamental, and incredibly beautiful.   

Men on the other hand are much simpler, and there's less that can go wrong, more like a small mo-ped.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

I'm hoping that's the case.  You see, I'm taking off into the wild blue yonder for several weeks.  If you want to follow my travels, check out A Separate Life over the next month or so.

I didn't want to take a break completely - I'm relatively new to many of my readers and don't want you to go away and forget to come back!  So I've written some posts here and at A Separate Life, and have scheduled them for publishing.  I'll try and pop in and comment when I can get internet access.

But if I can't comment, read my posts anyway, and then picture me somewhere in the sun, seeing new sights, doing at least one ridiculously scary new thing, trying new languages and foods, spending some romantic time with my husband and a bottle (or two) of champagne near blue seas, catching up with some old friends, and meeting a virtual friend for the first time IRL over afternoon tea at Claridges, and last but never least, visiting my much loved niece.