According to my findings, the average life expectancy rate in the US (2015) is 78 years. Thats it. I thought it would be much longer. Maybe its because I have what is now clear to me to be longevity in my family. My maternal grandparents lived into their 90s and my paternal grandparents are still at it in their 80s.
The statistic is still depressing to me as I sit here on the eve of my 33rd Birthday. The realization that I have lived more than a quarter of my life already, closer to half of it than not, is surreal. And what sinks in the most tonight is that almost half of it will have been lived without the children I so badly desire. Yet almost a tenth of it spent on trying to reproduce unsuccessfully. Shitty.
I am trying to stay positive, but who am I fooling? When it comes to birthdays, they have simply changed for me. I used to love them. My mom always made fun of me for it and joked that it was more like my “birthday month.” No more. For the first time, this year, I can really say that I just want the day to be over with tomorrow. I wasnt sure how I would feel about it, but as tonight crept up, it started to become clearer and clearer.
That being said, I would be okay with not hearing any happy birthdays or acknowledgments, as morbid as it all sounds. I even considered staying in my bed for the day, but I wont. Infertility and RPL have such profound effects on what are supposed to be the most special days. I hate it. I hate what they robbed from me. **ck you IF and RPL.
This blog is about being real, and this is where I am tonight. And Im quite okay with that.