Today I'm the 1 in 8.

Disclaimer: This is not an I've-totally-got-this kind of post.

Today was rough tough difficult painful heartbreaking.

Today was heartbreaking.

I'm still in my TWW from my first round of IUI. The last few days I've felt good, optimistic. But today has proven to get the best of me.

It feels like everyone around me is pregnant, or at least that's what social media wants me to think by sending all of the baby posts to the top of my news feed. Every time I open Facebook the little angel/devil on my shoulder duo stops by for a conversation:

👼: Ariel, just put the phone down.

😈: You're fine! Keep scrolling!

👼: Please don't do this to yourself.

😈: DO IT.

👼: *sighs*

😈: *muahahaha*

It's kind of like a car accident on the side of the road. You never want to see anything that might upset you terribly, yet your eyes are feverishly scanning the scene for just that. Seeing my friends start families of their own is so exciting. I know exactly how happy they must be. Not only do their posts and pictures show it, but my heart is overly empathetic.

One thing that I hope everyone realizes about the friend struggling with infertility: we don't hate everyone around us for sharing their pregnancy stories and too-cute-to-handle baby pictures. We don't resent them because they have what we want. It just hurts. We want to have those same experiences and for some reason, the universe decided that we'll have to take the scenic route.

I'm aware of my facial expressions as I scroll through these posts. There's a smile on my face as I hit the 'like' button. I keep scrolling. The more I 'like' the more I feel my eyes start to swell with tears. My smile starts to fade and the tears start falling. I set my phone down and get in bed.

Today was overwhelming. Two old friends both met their first child this week. Believe me when I say I couldn't be happier for them. Seven other friends, yes seven, posted their adorable baby bumps. I'm pretty sure I said, "aww," out loud at least twice. I saw seven friends with baby bumps in a matter of 15 minutes.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7. 

I am the 1 in 8.

Nothing is quite as painful as watching your husband desperately search for something to say to make you feel better as you continue to sob in his arms. This isn't his fault, he's doing exactly what I need him to do. I wish I could keep my brave face on all the time but that brave face weighs a million pounds. By the end of the day it gets so heavy that it has to come off. That's when it's hard. That's when the only thing keeping me sane are his hands wiping my tears away.

Today was hard being the 1 in 8. Tomorrow I'll have to do some damage control on my nearly swollen shut eyes, but it'll be better. I'll put the brave face back on with an extra bit of courage. 

But as far as today goes, it was hard.