“At least you already have one.”
People say it as comfort. Sometimes as correction. Sometimes as a way of ending the conversation.
The mother smiles because she knows she should. Her child is running around the room, sticky-fingered and loud and loved. She is grateful. Of course she is grateful.
Still, every month that the second pregnancy does not happen, something inside her folds in on itself.
Secondary infertility has a strange loneliness. The world often does not recognise it as grief. Even the couple may feel guilty for wanting another child when they already have one.
The longing is still real.
And medically, the question is valid: if pregnancy happened once, why is it not happening now?
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