I’m so tired of infertility and the death of my daughters defining my life, consuming every aspect of it.
My husband has been bugging me daily about getting a new car. He is driving my first car. A 1999 dodge neon. The passenger door is banged up and hard to open, the driver side door was backed into, the whole front passenger side is pretty beat up from a hit and run, the back bumper has been hit, and the gear shift is being held together with a bobby pin and a piece of plastic, literally. It looks horrible, but it runs. For how much longer, I don’t know.
He deserves a news car, he really does. But I keep telling him no. Every time I think of a new car payment, I get sick at my stomach. 400-500 dollars a month could go a long way into our dream of becoming parents to living children. Every time I eat out I am overwhelmed by guilt. I refuse to order out with coworkers, or even visit my family as much as I want, because I can’t stand the thought of spending the gas money.
We are paying $235 dollars a month on a loan we took out to try IVF. Please don’t take this wrong, it was worth it to meet my precious angels, but it is also a monthly reminder of what we lost.
I just keep telling myself, if I could just get pregnant, then my husband could get a new car. If my body weren’t so messed up, I wouldn’t have to worry about him so much at night when he drives a car with headlights so old and yellowed you can only see a few feet out.
If only my body weren’t so f**ked up…
If only he hadn’t married me…
I refused to let infertility and child loss to define my life, but I am realizing I can’t make my declaration. It does. Financially, mentally, emotionally, and any other way I can think of.