Sarah Flick
Shoutout to the Fertile Gourd Goddess Mom with 5 kids who attended the same baby shower I attended when I was infertile
Hey there, FGGM!
It’s been a while so you probably don’t remember me! But I remember you.
All the moms who attended my sister-in-law’s baby shower, including you, were consistently and fiercely Pleasant. Pleasantness was the unspoken theme in that suburban living room where a floral print monster had seemingly vomited all over the furniture.
I’m sorry I didn’t wear, or even own, any pastel-colored sundresses and pink lip gloss like the other ladies. But mostly I’m sorry that I suck at Pleasantness! I’m competent at Sardonic and totally excel at Anxious, but those skills are never in high demand. Perhaps I was also a wee bit Resentful at being required to attend a baby shower in my infertile state.
One of the moms asked you: “How many kids do you have?”
You ducked your head as if overcome by modesty, and nibbled your piece of Pepto Bismol-pink cake.
“Five,” you finally replied after a (dare I say it?) ‘pregnant pause.’
Followed by: “I’ve been blessed.”
Of course you have!
When the same mom questioned me, I replied: “I don’t have any,” while inadvertently spilling crumbs down my front.
“I guess Motherhood isn’t God’s Plan for you,” you said, smiling right into my face while resting a hand on your fecund belly. Then you lost interest in my predicament and began showing photos of your little ones to the crowd. Yes, you are one of those special women who refer to their kids as “little ones.”
Everyone else cooed over your images. I excused myself and went home to eat an entire pint of ice cream while weeping until my eyes were attractively dewy. No, wait! That’s what I would have done if I was the heroine of a funny yet poignant chick-flick about wanting a baby. Being a real person, I went home and cried and didn’t look pretty.
I wish I’d been the type of woman back then who stood up courageously to Fertile Gourd Goddess Moms instead of feeling intimidated. But I wasn’t, not yet. So I’m speaking to you now, on behalf of my younger childless self and for all the infertile wannabe moms who meet tactless Gourds and are shocked into speechlessness.
Don’t get me wrong. I come in peace. I don’t mean to discourage devotional displays of smugness by you or any other members of your tribe, but consider the following. If God ‘blessed’ you by granting five healthy births then, according to your logic, He definitely refused to bless me. In fact, He probably hates me because I wanted a child very badly.
The truth is that my reproductive system doesn’t function well, for reasons I won’t discuss except to say it’s not part of any grand, master plan. God has nothing to do with it just like God has nothing to do with your conspicuous overabundance.
So the next time you encounter an Infertility Goddess, remember that a little sympathy without judgement goes a long way, as it does in so many situations.
That’s all.
“Blessings.” (Maybe).
Sarah Flick is 7 feet tall; her hair is pure star-shine, and her eyes turn purple whenever she sees the sun set over an ocean. A slight scent of stewed prunes wafts off her skin. In spite of her challenges, New York Times, The Free Press, and High Country News, as well as numerous micro fiction stories, and essays for journals including: 101 Words, 50 Word Stories, McSweeneys Internet Tendency, 5-minute Lit, and Flash Fiction Magazine.
