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  • Writer's pictureBaking My Way to Happines

I’m pretty sure it’s a coping mechanism, but I’ve begun thinking about how life might not be so bad without children. More vacations, more sleep, I get to keep my “pre-pregnancy” body forever, more savings, nicer things, the list goes on for quite a while. But then I hear a pregnancy announcement and get an electric pull from my left leg to my heart and know there’s something deeper that I’m avoiding.

Why, as women, do we have this urge to grow an alien inside us and then sacrifice our freedom to wait on it hand and foot? FOREVER! It’s a lifetime commitment. My husband says it’s our natural instinct to preserve our genetic material and produce a legacy for generations. But he’s a nerd and what does he know? It’s a stupid desire to want our own kids. There are thousands out there that already exist that need good homes, devoted parents, and security. Why do we personally and as a society neglect to internalize that and instead spend hundreds of thousands of dollars to create more polluting bodies?

Which brings me to my next point. Why the hell does God, if He exists, (because I’m at the point in my challenges to question this now more than ever), give some women children, just for a fun example say a 16-year-old who eventually becomes a junkie and produces ten kids with different fathers that get thrown into foster care and experience a lifetime of hardship, and make it nearly impossible for a stable couple with advanced degrees, a loving environment, and resources to ensure a good quality life? Explain that one to me. Please. I’ll wait.

I don’t have answers to any of these questions. And I’ll be flabbergasted to know if anyone does. But if you think you have some profound explanation, please share because I could use a bit of inspiration right now.

As a side note: In one of my pre-med classes at UCLA the professor posted two photos of embryos: a chicken and a baby. We had to guess which one was which and 90% of the class got it wrong. Like I said, alien.

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  • Writer's pictureBaking My Way to Happines

Monday night was a coming out of sorts. It’s nice to finally spill my secrets to the world and the reaction has been absolutely overwhelming. I had no idea so many people are going through or have gone through what I have been experiencing the past few years. In a way, it’s devastating. Why bad things happen to good people, we may never know. But it’s also comforting that others have “survived” what feels like eternal hell and have come out on the other side with beautiful, healthy children. The most surprising part, at least to me, is that their pain was so tightly hidden that I would have NEVER suspected that they went through something similar, and sometimes even worse.

I’ve had the idea to do this for a while. I even took the name on Instagram about a year ago in the hopes to one day come out of my shell, face the world, and tell others about how baking has changed my life. But I wasn’t ready until now. The truth is, I wasn’t even ready to try to have a baby again because I couldn’t face the same loss and trauma. The pain was too much, both physically and emotionally. People say things like this all the time, but I really mean it. Baking was the only thing that made me happy. Well, not happy, but it numbed the pain. Then, last week when I was commissioned to do a painted cake and picked up a paintbrush for the first time in years, I really did feel happy again. Not "scream from the rooftop" and "dance in elation" happy, but at least it made me want to get out of bed for once in a VERY long time.

All of this said, I’m starting a blog. Whatever that means. I’ve never followed a blog and don’t even really know what it entails. For me, it’s going to be a public diary about my journey through infertility and the very long road I have ahead. Follow along with me, or don’t. I won’t take it personally. I’m really doing this for the people who aren’t ready to come out of the proverbial lonely infertility closest. I’m taking one for the team, if you will. I’ll be documenting my doctor’s appointments, sharing how baking has transformed my life, the good, the bad, the ugly, the expenses (the scary ugly), all of it. Because I wish someone had done this years ago when I needed to know I wasn’t alone. Especially in a religious world where life really only starts, or matters, once you’re married and have children. I’m not happy. I’m far from it. But I’m baking my way to happiness.

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