Our new series, written by contributor Mom-In Waiting, gives voice to the hidden, daily struggles of women facing infertility.
Fuck you, Ed Sheeran.
In your song Perfect, you sing,
Well I found a woman, stronger than anyone I know
She shares my dreams, I hope that someday I’ll share her home
I found a love, to carry more than just my secrets
To carry love, to carry children of our own
You can say maybe he means to carry children in her arms. Like from their car seat to their bed when they fall asleep during the ride home. Or when they get tired in the mall and don’t want to walk anymore and you don’t have a stroller with you. Sure. You can defend the line like that. And I don’t think Ed Sheeran means any harm. But when you can’t carry a child in your body, this lyric stings, especially when it’s juxtaposed with the word “perfect.”
Just because I cannot have children, does not make me imperfect.
My fix is to put this song on in the car when I’m alone, turn it up as loud as my speakers can handle, and scream at the top of my lungs.
I found a love to carry more than just my secrets.
To carry love, to carry groceries of our own!
And that, my friends, is how I get through the day. I also unfollow anyone who posts a pic of a baby on Instagram. I don’t even care if it’s theirs. And don’t get me started on those f-ing Johnson & Johnson commercials where they hand the crying baby to the mother for some skin-to-skin contact and the woman in the commercial is so genuinely excited you think, “Is this real or is this a commercial?” Right now, my coping method is just to throw whatever snack I’m eating at the TV. Is it okay for dogs to lick TVs? I hope so.
