Dear Procreation,
We’ve had an interesting run, you and I. For many years we were all about avoiding each other. First with medication, and later with a metal body guard keeping your grubby hands at bay. Then I met someone. A very special someone. We got married and started trying.
Suddenly I was chasing you.
You remained elusive. Perhaps you were nursing a hurt ego from my years of avoidance. I get it. Rejection hurts. I probably deserved a taste of my own medicine.
Catch & Release
Then I caught you. At least I thought I did. I was blindsided when you pulled one over on me, slicing my soul open with one swipe.
Barely recovered, I caught you again. One week later you were gone.
No one was more surprised than me when you stuck around in April 2020. We were newly in a pandemic and your timing couldn’t have been worse. Yet the weeks passed and we stayed together. In January 2021, Lucca was born.
Through our journey to get Lucca, we unwittingly became poster children for miscarriage. Not on purpose, but by sharing my grief I opened myself up to others going through similar challenges. Infertility can be an incredibly lonely road. Being able to share experiences – shining a light on something many consider taboo – is a privilege for which I will always be grateful.
I guess I should thank you for that.
Back at it
Soon it was time to chase you again. And, just like before, you tricked me into thinking I’d caught you. Twice.
Now we have baby Carlo. Which means I’m done.
The decision to quit you is easy. Except for the very first positive pregnancy test you gave me, I have despised pretty much every moment of our time together.
You tortured me. Physically and emotionally. Even before the pandemic locked me away, you forced me to live my life in two-week increments: first waiting for my opportunity to see you, then waiting to find out if you were sticking around. You cost me big days in the mountains, nights out with friends, and more than one vacation. I spent countless hours thinking about you, yearning for you, and planning my entire existence around your fleeting presence.
Not only that, you took the world’s best nude activity and made it a chore. Who does that?
Dear Procreation, I Quit.
I’m taking my life back. I am 38. I have two great kids – both miracles of medicine – and the time has come to make plans and enjoy life. Spending nearly four years with you brought Lucca and Carlo to me, making every needle poke and false hope worth it. But I can’t say I enjoyed it.
So Procreation, I quit. We’re done here. I hope you use this opportunity to reflect and work on yourself. Maybe go to a therapist. People would like you more if you were a little more available, if you know what I mean.
Infertile-ly yours,
-kC
p.s. I’m ‘famous’ for quitting things. First I quit climbing then I quit turns all year. I also quit breastfeeding but didn’t write about it (yet), but since we’re sharing, you deserve to have all of the information. Thanks for coming on this journey with me.
All photos by the exceptionally talented Jaimie Birtel.
