Metaphorical meltdown

So, this shouldn’t be a major meltdown moment, but I feel on the edges of the brink. I’m looking over the edge into the chasm and I’m trying not to fall in. What caused all of this you might ask?


A onesie.


Yep, that’s right. A small baby outfit. It’s pretty gender neutral and not very expensive. It’s on a website and I’ve had my eye on it for a while. It’s got a cute little saying on it that I absolutely love. It’s the perfect little onesie for the baby born out of the struggle with infertility. I feel like I have to have it. I want to own it for my future child.


But, that’s the problem. Owning the onesie supposes a future child is a sure thing. Once upon a time, when I thought babies were easy to make, I would have scoffed at myself and bought the thing for my future son or daughter. But, after years of heartache and months of my future scheduled full of doctor’s visits and medications, I’m afraid to hope.


Is it bad juju to have the onesie in the house, knowing full well I am not pregnant? Does God or fate or karma come around on you like that? Can it be so cruel?


My more realistic fear is my connection to this future baby outfit. Will I cling to it every failed cycle? Will it bring me to tears just by its existence? Will it become a token of what might be, something that embodies so much more than a few scraps of cloth should be able to? Will it become the gateway to my very own rabbit hole, the likes of which would make Lewis Carroll shutter?


Or is failing to buy it bringing negative vibes into the house. Would the existence of said onesie (maybe even placed in the “guest room”) help my odds of becoming pregnant?


I’m still wrestling with my demon-onesie. I occasionally pop by the website to see if it is still in stock. I’ve even talked to Jeremy about it (he’s very excited about the saying on the onesie, mainly because he loves irreverent T-shirts). His take on buying it is a typical response in our household: “Whatever you want, Beck.” He doesn’t know what would make me feel better, maybe even be better.


This entire thing is ridiculous, really. Buy it or don’t, I’m sure many of you are saying to yourself. My rational self knows there is no connection between owning the onesie and whether or not I will get pregnant. I think the bigger, more likely problem, is what happens if or when I don’t get pregnant. When we give up the dream of having a baby, and I still have an adorable little onesie, full of my hopes and dreams. Do I give it away to someone else who is luckier than I, or do I keep it, a perpetual reminder of what might have been?


This is how infertility changes you. A onesie is no longer just a onesie. It’s a metaphor, laden with meaning, but precisely what meaning, I do not know.


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