The hilarious fertility Gods levels the playing field.

It feels really unfair when you first learn that you are infertile. You will hear stories of people feeling isolated and alone, that hate going to peoples baby showers when they desperately want their own. They get tired of congratulating new mothers. All they want is their turn. Surely that’s not too much to ask.

That was not my experience at all. I was too busy in the corporate jungle and trying to make ends meet most of my adult life. I was in a perpetual state of survival mode. So I really didn’t have a lot of time to focus on infertility. When I did shift focus on starting a family. Everything happened so fast.

My hysterectomy was done within hours of getting the news and before you could say whacha-ma-call-it we were told of a birth mother desperately wanting to give us her baby. So there really wasn’t much time to feel isolated. I had a baby shower to plan. My turn seemed to come pretty darn quick.

When the adoption fell through and I was in mourning, thankfully everyone around me had the good sense not to go and get pregnant and invite me to their poxy baby showers.

However after the very first failed adoption, Mother’s day was a week later. This was supposed to be my first mother’s day. I spend the day in a friend’s guest room, in Cape Town, miles away from my family. Isolated and alone. I was feeling pretty rotten.

I was in no mood to wish any God Damn mother happy mother’s day, not even my own.

I was sick to freaking death of the condolence messages I was receiving after the news was out. That was the most gut-wrenching messages I ever had the misfortune to send.

Telling people that had just been to my baby showers (generously giving me expensive gifts) that baby Charlie (that was to be her name) would not be coming home.

** Side Bar. I kept the presents. I pondered about the etiquette for half a second. Then thought Fuck Etiquette! I am keeping these presents. I HAVE SUFFERED ENOUGH!!! Sorry if you were expecting your present back. Kennedy and I enjoyed them immensely.

But generally I am not a bitter person. Me, I’m the glass half full kind of girl. I remember one incident when I had sent out my cute “Surprise, I am infertile email” I got a very sheepish response from my friend Lara. She was about two months pregnant and yet to make the announcement and felt really nervous to tell me.

My response: “Don’t expect me to hide my Jimmy Choos from you when you visit, just because you are poor and can’t afford them.” I don’t own Jimmy Choos by the way. I am actually the poor and broke friend. “We celebrate each other’s triumphs sincerely, regardless of what is happening in our own lives. The end” We started choosing baby names from that second on.

There are some things that we can and should celebrate, the things that level the playing field some. The little bonuses that the fertility Gods have granted us.

In case you haven’t thought of them. I have ever so kindly listed them for you.

1. I got to drink actual wine at my baby shower. No lame-ass juice for toasting. 1-0 to the infertilites {new word}
2. No need for stretchy pants and that weird wrapping of my tummy after the birth. What? I have sisters and I have eyes.
3. I will say it again. My boobs are exactly the way they were before Kennedy came. Score!
4. Hormones. This needs no explanation.
5. Weight gain. This is a big one. No pun intended. No need for me to own extra “fat” clothes. I had done this before and it had nothing to do with pregnancy, there is NO way I am going back there.

I could go on and on but I really don’t want to start making fertile woman feel bad about themselves and jealous of me. That fate, my dear, is for a select few only.

I would not be getting that weather beaten new mother look. (Secretly this filled me with glee)

We have all seen it.

She is no longer the cute girl from accounts with the tight pencil skirts and the shiny hair. Nor is she the girl that went on maternity leave one month ago, the one who smelled nice with the healthy pregnancy glow.

This is not THAT girl standing in the middle of the office now showing off her baby. She looks happy enough. She is beaming and displaying her baby off to anyone that cares to take a look.

BUT, how can I say this delicately, she looks like pile of crap!

I am cooing at her adorable baby but I am also the one thinking. Damn! I hope I don’t like you when I have a kid.

The sunken eyes, the shiny hair a distant memory and her sparkly personality seems to have dulled ever so slightly. You will notice these things if you peel your eyes off her baby for just a moment. I think she may be even using him to distract you from these very things.

I watch her leave. Fumbling. Too tired to elegantly carry all her wares of baby diapers and whatever else is in that massive baby bag.

Not me I would be a proper, yummy mummy. The real deal. Dressed to the nines on a Saturday morning pushing Kennedy in a stroller to quaint cafes for lovely brunches. For I would not have to force a giant baby out of my lady bits so I would look Victoria-Beckham-fabulous.

Well now that I just lifted you up. I am about to bring you crashing down. Except for the wine, you still get to have the wine at your baby shower. Oh and the boobs. I will grant you that.

You will not be home free when you bring this bundle of joy home. I turned into that pile of shit in 0.2 seconds after Kennedy came home.

Let me break it down for you.

When you adopt a baby, you will be told in order bond better with your 3+ month old, it will be advisable to cater to her every whim. This is important so that your baby learns to trust you. She will learn that her mummy and daddy will be there for her when she needs her. There really was no need to be told this actually because this was going to happen regardless. We are brand-spanking-new parents. What do think new parents do? Drink chardonnay while watching the latest episode of Breaking Bad, while our long awaited joy cries? No! We were going to love on her so hard she may just think “Hold up, Mum and Dad and give me some freaking breathing space”

Sergio and I got home that first day and striped to our undies. Get you mind out of the gutter NOW! This is not that kind of a story. You will need to tune in next week for that one.

We took turns having Kennedy skin to skin which is supposed to speed up the bonding process and actually a very sweet and gorgeous memory.

We stood over her, staring. Tears welling up in our eyes. There was no need for words. We understood. We just wanted to breathe her in. She is home. We can finally add MUM or DAD to our twitter bios.

We rocked her in the buff and sang to her. The next few nights Sergio and I could not get to Kennedy fast enough. She could barely make a sound and we were by her side.

We also immediately started calling each other Mummy and Daddy. Gosh, the amount that we said those words was downright ridiculous. We were as giddy as two drunks at the annual office party.

Our 5 month old started to regress, back to newborn behavioural patterns. Perfectly normal healthy behaviour in the bonding process. It meant waking up every hour to pop her bottle back in her mouth, to rock her and change her. Sergio did a lot while I googled “EVERYTHING” I am personally responsible for the rise in googles stock prices those early days.

All this regression came with a serious downside. Extreme Sleep Deprivation.

And then it happened.

My eyes were sunken, my skin looked bad, my hair had not been washed in days, my hormones started to play up and I found myself crying with Kennedy. I was eating a lot of sugar to try and combat this new state of being. My pants were getting tighter. I started wearing my husband’s track pants on account of not owning any maternity wear.

I was googling Help my baby won’t sleep! At 2 in the morning.

Kennedy came to level the playing field once again and wipe that smugness right off my face.

I got my baby. I am a mother now. The playing field was well and truly levelled.

Not home free at all, not even a little bit.

So dear prospective adoptive mummy, enjoy the wine at your baby shower. That’s all you getting.

If you want to read more about my story. Just click here

Shell Shocked Mummy also now has a home on facebook if you want to show me some love.