Ya Just Never Know, Do Ya?

Last night's performance was awesome.  I was standing on the stage and I spotted the reviewer in the second row.  He was chewing gum and that pissed me off for some reason.  Those familiar butterfly feelings crept in and my knees went weak.  Butterflies are especially sucky when you are trying to sing and need to be abolished quickly.  All the sudden, something really empowering smacked me in the gut.  I may not be able to make a baby, but damnit, I can sing like nobody's business.  I took that feeling and friends, I rocked it.  My solo was as good as I've ever performed it.  I enjoyed myself immensely the entire concert.  I was flying high.  J and I came home and had a really nice evening together.  It was one of those nights I just wouldn't let infertility be a part of.

Today's performance was a different story.  I don't know what set me off.  Probably a combination of things.  After warm up, we were all sitting around and it suddenly hit me why I feel like such a fish out of water recently.  It's a women's chorus and everyone sits around and talks about their kids.  That's all I hear swirling around me.  Breastfeeding tales, potty training woes, grandbabies on the way, little Johnny's teacher is so so mean... I have nothing to add to any of these conversations.  I used to attempt to, but now I just feel like a total poser.  In a big group of women, where you would think one would feel the most supported, I feel like a complete pariah.

While we were standing in line to walk to the stage for the performance, I was reading the community builiten board for a local "Women's Group."  Every freaking post was about being a mom.  There was nothing that was not related to parenthood on that board.  I felt like such a... I don't even know.  A woman who doesn't count?  I don't know how else to explain it.

When I stood up on that stage today, all I could think of were the times I sang with my mom and my grandfather.  I thought about my mom teaching me how to harmonize and my Papa teaching me how to love music and be a performer.  I had this sudden fear that I wouldn't pass that gene on.  That I wouldn't have those moments with my child and my mother wouldn't sing with my children like my Papa did with me and my cousins.  I checked my phone at intermission and there was a text from BFF, checking in on me since I hadn't talked to her since I told her our IUI cycle didn't work out.  I lost it.  I was sitting there trying to hide my eyes and keep my mascara from running.  I think our director saw me, and although he's a friend he's also a guy so I just kept praying that he didn't ask me what was wrong.   Thankfully, no one else spotted me, or if they did they either didn't care to ask or sensed that I have infertility and were afraid that if they got too close they might catch it.

It was hard to get through the rest of the performance.  We sang some beautiful arrangements of "My Shepherd Will Supply My Need" and "Deep River" that just stab me in the heart.  I got choked up a couple of times, but managed not to make a complete fool of myself.  Anyway, the point of this rant was that we can't always be prepared for what is going to set us off and bring on a sudden bout of sadness.  But what can we do to choose not to be sad in that moment?