Last weekend I was witness to the conversation again. The one where moms share their birth stories. Maybe it was because there was an infant present or maybe it's an inevitable conversation when two or more moms are gathered (interesting side note: there were two dads present as well).
It's okay. I'm okay with those conversations. I am.
Except when maybe I'm not.
I smile and nod. I listen. I wait.
I wait for my turn to share, even though my story is different.
On that particular day, since it was in the middle of a birthday party, the topic changed abruptly once it was time for cake and ice cream. My story never came up.
Since that particular afternoon thoughts and feelings have been swirling around in my head. Over the next few days, or weeks, I'm going to try to make sense of them in order to share them. Thoughts about infertility, although I never accepted that word, preferring fertility challenged since it leaves a little wiggle room for hope. Thoughts about adoption. Thoughts about what comes next after adoption. Thoughts about making peace with it all.
Or at least trying to.