An Open Letter to Aunt Flo from a Woman Navigating Infertility

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Dear Aunt Flo,

Let’s get real for a moment. You’re not exactly the most beloved guest at our monthly gatherings. I don’t think I know a single woman who looks forward to your arrival. You bring all sorts of delightful gifts: cramps, bloating, mood swings—you name it. Tampons? They remind me of mini cotton torpedoes. Pads? I feel like I’m back in diapers. And those menstrual cups? I haven’t ventured into that territory yet, but they sound like something out of a bizarre party game.

But here’s where things get really tricky: for women like me, who are wrestling with infertility, your monthly visit is more than just an annoyance; it feels like a cruel joke.

I want another baby. There, I said it. If only saying it out loud could magically break the spell of infertility I seem to be under. If it were that simple, I’d be shouting it from the rooftops—probably while juggling dinner prep for a big family (even if that means just instant ramen!).

I love my kids dearly and am incredibly grateful that modern medicine has made their existence possible. Yes, I’m truly blessed (hashtag #BLESSED, if you will) to have my two lively boys. They are my everything, and yet, there’s a part of me that yearns for another little one. Sometimes, when I see my boys, I can’t help but imagine the joy on their faces as they feel a baby kick in my belly or as they hold a new sibling in their arms. I can sense a tiny void in my heart.

The desire for another baby is so intense it’s almost painful. That dull ache in my heart mirrors the cramping in my uterus when you show up, reminding me of yet another month without conceiving. Those cramps—oh, the cramps! They signal yet again that my body is failing to do what it’s supposed to do.

And let’s not forget the mind games you play. Do your symptoms really have to mimic those of early pregnancy? Every month, I convince myself that you might skip town, that perhaps this will be the month I get good news. I tell myself the cramps are just the baby snuggling in, the bloating is a sign of pregnancy hormones, and my sore boobs? Well, they’re preparing for nursing.

And when you finally make your grand entrance, it’s like a parade of disappointment. You come crashing into my dreams, reminding me that I’m still on this rollercoaster of longing. It’s exhausting, and I’m just so tired of it all.

So, Aunt Flo, I’m writing this letter not just for myself, but for all the women out there feeling the weight of your monthly visits. You may be a natural part of life, but you also symbolize so much heartache for those of us wishing for a little miracle.

If you want to learn more about navigating these feelings, check out this insightful blog post on Intracervical Insemination for support. And for those looking to boost fertility, Make a Mom offers some great resources. Plus, if you’re curious about what to expect during pregnancy, March of Dimes is an excellent guide.

In summary, Aunt Flo, while you may be a natural part of life, your visits serve as a harsh reminder of what I long for. So, here’s to hoping you take a little vacation in the future.