I've been thinking about this topic for awhile now, but have been unable to decide whether I wanted to blog about it or not. And to be honest, I am really not sure where my feelings will stand on the topic until I actually write it out, so I have no idea where exploring this idea will take me...

Several days back, I read a post by Erica at The Dunn Family. The title of her post is "Why it's great to be an infertile..." I have to say that once I read that title, my emotions were already all over the place. Why would anyone think being an infertile is great? I can honestly say that I have NEVER thought that being infertile and having to have help to conceive is a great thing. In my experience, being infertile has brought with it more pain than I would have thought humanly possible, two miscarriages, hundreds of shots, a host of drugs that I wouldn't wish on anyone, and an incredible amount of cash--because, course, infertility treatments aren't covered by my insurance.

(The great thing about blogland is that there is always something to think about!)

Erica starts her post by saying that she was at first upset because she wasn't one of those lucky people who can easily get pregnant; that most likely, her family was complete, not because she didn't want any more children, but because she couldn't afford all of the procedures it took to get her pregnant in the first place. And then the tone of her post changed. She is lucky. She has twins that she most likely wouldn't have conceived them if she didn't do fertility treatments. God, I envy her perspective.

A fellow blogger friend, RC (who you really should check out if you haven't yet), has told me that everything is all a matter of perspective. Ahhhh, perspective.

Twins. I probably wouldn't have the twins without being an infertile either. How can I say that the twins are anything but great? I love them with a ferocity I didn't know I had. To get to the twins, I would have had to go through this roller coaster of a journey. To get to the twins, I had to have two miscarriages. To get to the twins, I had to do shots and have the entire world look up my hoo-ha. I suppose, that by taking these things into perspective, I am okay with infertility (not happy, but okay).

That being said, I struggle with the whole idea of the twins, too. Don't get me wrong. I do not, for one second, ever want you to think that I do not thank my lucky stars each and every day for my wonderful boys. I am so blessed to have them in my life, and I am truly happy. I love the idea of the boys being twins and having that bond that nothing can break. I love that they seem to go through things together--an all for one, one for all type of thing. I know they will be friends for life, and I am so happy that I was able to give them that! But, and it seems there is always a but, I wonder if things would have been so difficult for them, for all of us, had I not been pregnant with twins in the first place.

Had I not been infertile, I would most likely not ever have had twins, and would have had one baby at a time. I believe that I wouldn't have delivered at 28 weeks; I believe my baby would have come home with me straight from the hospital just like they do for everyone else. I believe that I wouldn't have been on bed rest for the two and a half months. I believe that I wouldn't be scared to death every time my baby does something quirky and come to the conclusion that all of this had to have affected him in a negative way (my new fear is cerebral palsy).

What about the boys, you might ask.

I've thought a lot about the concept of a baby's soul during this trying to conceive journey, especially when I had my two miscarriages. After playing different scenarios in my head over and over, I think it is interesting that I had twins after the two miscarriages. I believe the souls of my boys were destined to be in our family, whether they came at the same time or a different times. I don't think that the boys had to come together for me to have the boys I have. Their souls would have joined my family no matter what, and the more I think about it, the more I am convinced that these two little souls in my precious boys are the very same souls that would have joined us if I had never miscarried in the first place. Does that make sense?

So am I glad that I am infertile? I honestly say no. The path of infertility has made me who I am, and I am grateful for that in a strange way. It has proven to me that I am stronger than I gave myself credit for. I was blessed with the boys--and I do love that they are twins even though I struggle with it. And, I understand that Erica's intention was most likely to find the positive in something that is so hard. Her twins are her gift from infertility, as my twins are mine. I am sure that her perspective is probably much healthier than mine, but I can't seem to quite get there.

But still, I am not glad that I am infertile. There is really no good reason why some people need to be infertile in this world. Just like there is no reason for someone else to be ill, have someone they love die an untimely death, or anything else. These things happen, and it is our job to deal with them, even if we don't understand why we should have to in the first place.

AMS at Our Own Creation has herself been looking for meaning. Her story is not the happy ending after fertility treatments, and my heart goes out to her. She is asking "Why?" like I am, but her why is a whole lot bigger than mine. I don't have anything to be questioning "Why?" about, I have the boys, right?

Again, there is that perspective thing.

But still I ask the question, sometimes as often as once a day. Other times, the question is forgotten for several days or a week. The question always comes back to haunt me, though. "Why?"

AMS has listed several quotes and asked us to write about the one that inspires us the most. When I read this quote,

“There are, it has been said, two types of people in the world. There are those who, when presented with a glass that is exactly half-full, say: this glass is half full. And then there are those who say: this glass is half-empty. The world belongs, however, to those who can look at the glass and say: ‘What’s up with this glass? Excuse me? Excuse me? This is my glass? I don’t think so. My glass was full! And it was a bigger glass!’ “Terry Pratchett

it spoke to me for obvious reasons. I am among those who are saying, "What is up with this glass?"

My glass should be full. My kids should be healthy (and I have nothing but fear that says that they aren't). I shouldn't have to have help to have more kids. I want the bigger glass already, dammit!

I know that I am still struggling with grief, even four months from the time the boys were born. I am still grieving all of the stuff I missed/lost. Is it healthy? Most certainly not. Can I seem to get over it? No. I am grieving that full glass. I am grieving what I can't have. I can't quite figure out why.

Is it because there are still so many unknowns? Is it because I am just a big baby? Is it that I am going through some sort of post traumatic stress?

I am sure it sounds like I should just get over it. I should just be happy for what I have and let this all go. (and I really am) I know there are so many who still struggle to get anywhere near this place. I need to have a paradigm change in my perspective, but how do I get there. This type of blogging is the start, right?

And with that, I think I am going to stop. I told you that I wasn't sure where this post would end, and I am not sure that it cleared anything up in my head either. The good news is that maybe now that I have put this out to the blogosphere, maybe I can stop running this over and over in my mind. Maybe.