'Tis the Season

The holidays are not always merry and bright.

Some of us are grieving the loss of a loved one. For others, it’s a financially trying time. There’s a reason so many of us wish we could be kids again. Back when the season was simple. Colorful. Low stakes.

Speaking of kids, have you noticed that nearly every major holiday toward the end of the year is aggressively kid centric? Kids everywhere.

First comes Halloween. Mini Superman costumes and tiny princess gowns start lining the stores sometime around August. Honestly, that one isn’t too bad. It’s cute. Babies dressed as pumpkins for photoshoots. Easy enough to walk past without getting emotionally tangled.

Then Thanksgiving rolls in.

Now the kids are in the house.

I’ll admit, during this part of the season, I’m sometimes grateful we don’t have babies or children at the table yet. But for those who do, this is when things really start to surface. Nieces and nephews dressed up for the feast. Toy catalogs arriving in the mail. And the questions from older relatives begin to trickle in.

“When are you having kids?”

“We’re trying!”

Which, frankly, is about the most private answer you can give to a question like that. I’ve seen plenty of videos online complaining that this response is “gross,” as if it means you’re just announcing your sex life to the room.

I’ll gently remind anyone offended by that answer of one important thing.You asked the question.

And “trying” does not necessarily mean having a good time.

Trying can mean blood tests. Ultrasounds. Medications that mess with your hormones. Surgery. Supplements. Lifestyle changes. Goodbye hot toddies and wine at Thanksgiving. Daily injections to the stomach. Peeing on ovulation strips. Negative pregnancy tests. Over and over.

By the time you’ve been “trying” for a year, it is no longer fun. It is emotionally exhausting for both people involved. At some point, you realize you’re not just trying to get pregnant anymore. You’re trying to protect your relationship while doing it.

And then December arrives.

By Christmas, many of us, myself included, are completely broken. Will we ever have more than two stockings to hang? December feels like a final line. A reminder that it will not be happening this year. You remember what you told yourself last year. This year will be the year. You remember who you thought you would be by now.

And then you’re forced to face the reality that you are not that person. You are exactly where you were a year ago.

That realization is painful. It’s also the literal definition of insanity. Doing the same things over and over again and getting the same result. Infertility is insanity. And December is when it reminds us.

We might be standing there smiling. Dressed up. Seemingly cheerful. But sometimes, you have to quietly slip away from the party, step into the back room, and cry.