I try to post at least once a week. Usually I manage to do so without problem, finding that I often have the urge to post on Friday afternoons, and that at least is a regular pattern that keeps me posting weekly. But I see I’m overdue. Somehow, time has overtaken my urge to post. Somehow, even though I’m not working full-time, I and struggling to post at the moment, and I marvel at those of you who have less free time, and still keep your blogs up to date. I mean, my last post was a big cheat. (When in doubt, resort to lists! – that’s my motto.) So today, after a busy (though non-productive) day, I thought I’d better check how long it has been since I posted. “No problem,” I thought. I’ll just check the file I keep, where I have a bunch of potential blog topics, and quite a few drafts written. But not one of them inspires me at the moment.
And you know why? Because right now, being infertile just isn’t part of my being. I don’t feel infertile. I don’t feel lacking in any way. I'm sorting out a number of things - finding a decent income source, working on a writing project, helping my sister-in-law plan her trip to France later this year, planning my own significant birthday trip (that's probably another post), getting fit, keeping up with my volunteer work, and working my way through Jamie O's 30 Minute Meals cookbook. Not to mention, trying to keep up with the Olympics. So my mind is flitting all over the place, and life is busy. Infertility? What's that. It's disappeared, for the moment at least. The usual triggers are firing blanks. This morning I had a quick coffee in a local cafe (actually, it was breakfast, after rushing out to post a passport renewal application and a letter to a US friend), and smiled at a little Indian-NZ girl who wanted to use one of the chairs at my table. (She was insufferably cute!) Later, at the airport with my mother, I noted another little cutey, with red curly hair just like my niece, and grinned. A baby stared at me over the shoulder of their parent. No twinges. Nothing but pleasure at seeing these lovely little children. A momentary pleasure, quickly dismissed. It’s the way I want to be able to react to kids all the time. Sometimes I can, sometimes I can’t. But when I can, which these days is most of the time, I feel normal. I don’t feel infertile. I just feel like me. It is good.