Dear Aunt Flo,
Let’s not beat around the bush—you’re not exactly the life of the party. I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who genuinely looks forward to your monthly visit. You’re a major inconvenience, and dealing with your antics is utterly draining. Tampons? They feel like tiny cotton torments. Pads make me feel like a toddler in diapers, and those cups? They sound like a bizarre artifact for some strange vampire gathering.
And let’s not forget the cramps, the bloating, those relentless cravings, and the emotional rollercoaster. Honestly, you can be downright cruel. I think most women would agree with me.
But here’s the kicker: for women like me—those of us facing the heartache of infertility—your torment escalates to a whole new level. What is merely annoying transforms into something almost sadistic.
I long for another child. There, I’ve said it. If only saying it aloud could magically lift the weight of my infertility, but it’s not that simple. If it were, I’d be shouting from the rooftops and then scampering back inside to prepare dinner for my growing family (probably just ramen, but I’d be blissfully happy).
I adore the children I have and count myself incredibly fortunate that modern medicine has made their existence possible. Yes, I’m hashtagging #BLESSED to have my twin boys. They are miracles, my everything, and I can hardly fathom how my heart could hold space for another child.
Yet it does. Sometimes, when I watch my boys and envision their delight as they feel a baby kick in my belly, or picture them lovingly cradling a sibling, I sense a tiny emptiness within me.
Yes, I want another baby. The desire aches deep within me—everywhere, from the hollow feeling in my chest to the agonizing cramps in my uterus. And this brings me back to you.
You know the cramps I’m referring to—the ones that signal another month of failure to conceive. The ones that mock me, reminding me my body isn’t performing as it should. They strike when you cause my uterus to contract, preparing to rid itself of an embryo that never was.
I can’t stand you.
It’s not just the physical pain you bring, or the mood swings, or the inconvenience of dealing with feminine hygiene products. It’s also the mind games you play.
Must your symptoms mimic those of early pregnancy?
Every month, it’s the same cruel cycle: I convince myself you’re not showing up this time. I trick myself into believing that my PMS symptoms are signs of the little one I so desperately crave.
I tell myself those cramps are just a little one getting cozy. The bloating? Just my body gearing up for the new life. Those sore breasts? Merely preparing for nursing. And my insatiable craving for chocolate? Obviously, that’s the baby wanting it.
When the spotting begins, I even convince myself it’s just implantation bleeding. I’ll scour the internet, searching for anything that might give me hope. It’s torturous—every month is a painful cycle of expectation and disappointment.
I dream about baby names, calculate due dates, and imagine how we would announce our pregnancy. I picture my boys in matching “Big Brother” shirts, dramatically unveiling their news at a family dinner.
It’s a vicious cycle that leaves me utterly fatigued. Just when I think I’ve outsmarted you, you show up to rain on my parade, reminding me that the baby I long for is yet again out of reach.
So here I am, writing this letter of frustration. I know it might sound a bit unhinged. Maybe it is; infertility has a way of doing that to a person. I understand you’re just a biological function, not a villain I can confront. But other women out there resonate with this struggle. They, too, need a place to direct their frustration, rather than letting it spill over onto those they love.
So, from all of us navigating this journey: Enough already.
For more insights and support, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination. If you’re interested in exploring options for conception, consider this home insemination kit, which could offer help. Furthermore, these Make A Mom mamas provide valuable insights on your journey.
In summary, Aunt Flo, you and I have a complicated relationship. While many women dread you, it’s particularly painful for those of us facing infertility. Our desires for family expansion become a painful reminder of what we lack, and for that, we’re all just a little tired of you.