I'm almost out of polite: the state of my pregnancies or lack thereof.

When people ask  in conversation how things are going in the "baby making department", I try to say something polite like "oh, still practicing" that reflects the way I'm pretty sure you meant it. I'm pretty sure the reason you're asking is that it's been a while since I've seen you and you remember I'd mentioned something about it before and it's a small talk subject you can think of.

Stop it.

The reason it seems like everyone knows I'm trying is because I've been trying for *five years*. That's a lot of time for conversations. I've had *four miscarriages* in those five years. If I see you and I'm not giddy with excitement and don't mention within my first three sentences the exact state of my uterus, it's because either
1. Nothing is happening. Again.
2. I am pregnant, but it's still so early that I'm terrified I'm going to miscarry again and could we please talk about something else because the "oh, hey, nevermind about the baby" conversations are getting kind of awkward.

But it's probably the first one.

The honest answer is that I'm finally starting to realize that I may never have a child. The honest answer is that I spend a vast portion of my energy in a given day not crying, that if I stop for three whole minutes and think about how my life is falling apart, I will begin wet, snotty bawling. I am not exaggerating, any given minute of any day, I am literally less than five minutes away from total meltdown. I don't look like it because I'm really good at putting up a good front, and honestly if you don't know when not to talk to someone about the personal details of their reproductive lives, you're even less likely to know how to deal with me losing my shit.

I talk about other peoples' babies because I work with them all day. I'm happy to talk to you about your baby. I'm happy to talk to you about your future babies, but if I have to excuse myself for a few minutes, do me a favor and just pretend that my eyes aren't more red than when I left and carry on. If I want to talk about it, I'll start the conversation.

If I want to talk about how my entire life I've known that I would have kids, I will. I didn't just wake up one day and think it would be neat to get pregnant.  For the last 15 years, every decision I've made has revolved around making myself a better person so that when I have my passel of offspring, I'm up to the task of raising conscientious, compassionate, creative, rational, reasonable, joyful humans. It's why I was a massage therapist for a decade. It's why I studied what I did in college. The careers that I've started, or haven't, the places I've gone or not, all of the forks in the road I've chosen because they would make me the kind of person I wanted to be for my kids. It's why my entire life is the way it is now.

And that may all be for nothing. It may well be that I've spent the last 15 years training for a mission that will never happen. There are a few steps more I'm willing to take, but not many. Clomid is my endpoint. That's the last thing I will try, and if that doesn't work, I'm done.
No, we're not planning to adopt. I don't have tens of thousands of dollars lying about, I've studied too much of the brain and what happens when to know that I'm not the right fit for adopting a ward of the state and I'm  not going to put myself in a position where I finally get an adoption through, bond with the child and then have some junkie mom find Jesus and decide she wants her kids back. Mine or none, the end.
No, I don't know what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. I have no interest in going into public education or opening a preschool. I work where I do because these are the babies of my tribe and we have similar philosophies on how children should be reared and respected. I work where I do because I'm tired of being a generic button masher and I wanted to do something closer to what I really want.

 I'll figure something out, but I don't want to talk about it right now. I can barely say any of this out loud, with my mouth, when I'm alone. I certainly don't want to chit-chat about it with someone else. Please, for the love of fuck, stop asking.