I've become that person.

I've become that person.

You know the one.  The one that people send their friends to.  The one that people can go to ask questions.  The one that gets invited to coffee by acquaintances of acquaintances because they simply want to hear about someone (anyone) who has been there before.  I'm the one that my friends and their friends and their friends come to when the unthinkable happens:  

Infertility. 

Whether the person sitting across from me at the Starbucks table is interested in fertility treatment, adoption, embryo adoption, or the other myriad of options we either did or looked at to start our family, the conversation is invariably the same.  It's my story.  With all of its sleepless nights, tear-soaked pillows, flat-on-my face misery that slowly gave way for two brief periods of time to reveal the miracle of life in the births of my son and then my daughter. 

For the last 5 years, I have been in a storm.  The rain stopped and the sun shone on me the first time nearly 4 years ago with the birth of my son through the miracle of domestic adoption.  And then the storm sucked me back in as I longed, yearned to be pregnant and give birth.  Then, the rain stopped again and the sun shone on me for the second time just over a year ago with the birth of my daughter through the miracle of embryo adoption. 

Now, I'm disappointed (and ashamed) to say, I feel back in the storm yet again.  Because I long for one more.  I'm angry at myself that I cannot seem to simply be content with the abundant blessings I've already been given.  Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!   

(That was the voice in Jan's head in the Brady Bunch series, in case you're wondering.  I have a similar voice.  In my head.  It's equally tormenting.  But at least it says my own name and not that of the 70s character).

If I didn't know myself better, I'd say that I tend to feel more comfortable in storms. And maybe I do.  Perhaps I like to prove wrong the old adage, "You are either just exiting a storm, in a storm, or about to enter a storm" by simply remaining in my storm.

But I digress. Or maybe I don't.  I have become that person who encounters others in the midst of their storm. 

And while I may still be in my own storm, I hope that as I sip my cup of coffee across from my new friend, at least I can offer a hand to this girl in the storm next to me to let her know she is not alone. 

I will endure the storm with her.