The internets tell me it is, once again, NIAW.

I am not “over” my infertility.

I have read post after post from adoptive mothers who claim victory over their infertility because they are busy parenting their children.

I am not one of them.

I am not victorious over my infertility.

Because I am still barren.

I think about it at least every thirty days. I obsess over it if my cycle lasts more than thirty days.

I get angry about it, because even though I know God and I trust Him, I think it sucks that to grow our family we have about a million hoops we have to jump through.

Hoops that are constantly moving and catching fire and throwing knives at us.

We can’t just decide that this is the month. I don’t get to pee on a stick two weeks later and design cute pregnancy announcements.

I get angry at people who decide that trusting God is apparently optional for them and brag about “getting fixed.”

What a luxurious first world problem to have. Fertility (without the risk of death).

Maybe after we adopt again I will be over it, because we will have the “perfect American family with two children.”

Except we wanted four.

Or more.

And we are pushing forty.

Hear me when I say this: being angry about my infertility – being angry that something so natural has been taken away from us – has nothing to do with my faith. I truly believe God has it under control. But…

I am still not over my infertility. My useless uterus still aches at every friend’s pregnancy announcement, pregnancy complaint, happy newborn pictures and the ensuing complaints about trying to parent more than one child.

I am not asking for special treatment. I am mature enough to RSVP no to baby showers if I need to and avoid gatherings that might hurt. I get the newborn haze and the need to show me your boob at Chick Fil A. I don’t expect to be handled with kid gloves. The world does not revolve around me and my infertility.

But infertility is real. Thousands of women (and men) suffer from it. Maybe you are over it. But if you really aren’t, don’t be afraid to be honest about it. It doesn’t make you any less of a person of faith, or any less of a parent, or any less of a woman.

It makes you real. And it just might bring some awareness to infertility.