K-Smarty's in da' hizouuuse

I probably shouldn't be, but I am, and quite frankly, I'm tired of fighting it. I'm bitter. Still bitter. I'm sure that part of me always will be bitter.

Infertility is cold and vicious, and like the sea, it has many depths and a wide breadth. Some, like myself, might only need Clomid. Others injectibles and IUI. Others IVF. Surrogacy. Adoption. Child-free living. No matter what your particular flavor of infertility is, it's like walking through fire. No matter how long or short that walk is, when you come through the fire, you're still left with burns. The scars of the struggle remain etched in your heart, and they prick from the heat of the nearby fire and from the pain of the others still there. Or maybe that's just me.

So yeah - I'm bitter. Still. Because it just isn't fair. Dammit.

As a surrogate, I chose to come back to the flames partially because it feels like a way of paying it forward. But there's the other side of me that feels like I have unfinished business, like I can't rest until I've helped pull someone else out. Then there's the greater part of me that is actually comforted by the warmth here - not by the fire's heat, but by the warmth of the others here. That other place where people say shit like, "I got pregnant on the Pill!" and "If you just relax it will happen for you" just makes me cringe.

People look at me but they don't see. Now having crossed through, I hear shit like, "Don't you know what causes that (that being pregnancy)?" and "Well, you're just a baby machine, aren't you?" If you only knew, jack ass. But since you don't, I'll just call you a bitch or a fucker behind your back and resist the urge to make a voodoo doll in your likeness and poke its private parts with a PIO needle.

I'm definitely bitter - and bitter is better together.

Once a vet, always a vet.

Vets up, Ferts down - can I get a witness, my Mafia sistas?