Another perfect 28-day cycle came and went and I am still fruitless with everyone else around me getting pregnant or due to give birth, all due in March or April, all miracles conceived during the heightened months of my pain. All Beckys and Marys are cradling their bundles of joy and grinning from the cover of heftily lifted magazines. I scream silently in defeat and ask for mercy.
All I am left with is a soaked pad of sadness and a spectacular shoe collection that gives me no pleasure and no meaning in life.
I just panicked. I want to see if there is a power somewhere I can trade my soul with. I just don’t understand.
Today is not a good day.