No, I’m STILL not glad I went through IF
In our brief time together the other day, BFB and I were discussing how delightful it is that I get to have a baby bunny in the year of the rabbit. Then she said something along the lines of it will be interesting to see if you end up being glad you didn’t have a baby sooner. Now, before we throw down on her ass, she wasn’t saying, oh I bet you’ll be glad you went through infertility because now you get a year of the rabbit baby! Nor was she spouting any of that clearly it was meant to be, whatever happens is for the best bullshit. She was saying something more like once you meet your child, you might feel like that particular child couldn’t have come into existence at any other time, and you’ll be thankful that she is she or he is he, and therefore pleased about the circumstances of his or her conception.
I get the idea. Each life is so individual, so irreplaceable. Each time one flames into existence, it sparks a million hopes and dreams, which–I clumsily imagine–is part of what makes it so devastating when one is extinguished. And if you have a sibling or multiple kids, you must have marveled over the amazing variety that the same basic genetic material can generate. So it’s totally possible that when Bun Bun is here, I’ll look at him and think thank God you weren’t conceived any sooner, because if you had been, you would not have been YOU. In fact, I feel like many of you have expressed something similar to that sentiment when your longed-for child is born: everything you endured makes sense when you gaze into those eyes, because it brought you to that particular moment.
But that’s not the same as saying that it was no big deal to wait two years–two years filled with nights and days of complete and utter despair–or to have my heart broken a million times or to get gutted like a trout.
I struggle with perspective on this issue. On the one hand, I see many of you going through such agony (and this week seems extra bad for some of my favorite girls: Egghunt, Andie, GingerandLime, I’m lookin’ at you), and I feel like a poseur. Was my experience really so bad? It was just two little years. It was just a lot of little procedures and one little surgery.
On the other hand, I know I have a tendency to minimize things. For example, I was sexually assaulted a long time ago (like the way I dropped that intimate little bomb on you with no warning?) and when I talk about it, I tend to add I’m grateful it wasn’t worse. A therapist once pointed out that I shouldn’t feel the need to have grateful in a sentence about being sexually assaulted. Some experiences don’t need any caveats, they’re just awful.
So I guess this is really just a reminder to myself. It’s okay to acknowledge that something was wretched, without any need to compare or minimize. You don’t believe in a deterministic world, Bunny. You don’t have to be thankful for the shit-tastic things that happened on the way to the land of unicorns and rainbows. You can be grateful for what IS, without being grateful for the causal chain.