So I’m a mere 7 days (and 16 minutes- not that I’m counting) to my 31st birthday as of me writing this. I’d like to say that I’m excited for it, but I’d be lying.

Normally, I’m the giddy birthday girl. Excited to have a day where those I care about and love make me feel special. I’m a bit vain. I love celebrating my birthday. I love getting gifts, cake and a chorus (or two) of happy birthday. I don’t want all the attention all of the time, but I want it on days that are clearly important to me…like birthdays. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that though. Some people love it, some are indifferent while others downright can’t stand it. My husband is of the can’t stand it camp so he has a hard time understanding my need for attention on my birthday. Or our anniversary. Or Christmas. Or any other holiday or special date. Seriously.

I’ve never been afraid of aging. My friend turned 30 in September and she had a rough couple of months before she hit 30 and she had a really, really bad couple of days surrounding her 30th birthday. Six month earlier, I welcomed 30 like an old friend. A surprise birthday party a week before we moved into our house. We partied in my half packed up apartment. My party was such a surprise to me that they all came into the apartment to surprise me to find me napping on the couch because to the best of my knowledge, my friend was coming over to give me a mani and pedi. In TV surprise parties, you walk in and they turn on the lights and everyone jumps out to say SURPRISE! My birthday though, everyone walked in with everything needed for the party, said SURPRISE and I didn’t budge so they had to shake me awake and in my still mostly asleep daze as I searched for my glasses they gave me a second chorus of SURPRISE while I processed the 10 or so people there. There was a lopsided cake made with love from my friends, alcohol and music from my teen years. We ate cake, hung over and I nursed a hangover the next morning. It was a great 30th birthday.

This year though, its a completely different story. For the first time in my almost 31 years, I’m absolutely dreading my birthday.

A couple of weeks ago, I hit a bad spell. Like a really bad spell. An emotional mess that left my husband shaking his head. He didn’t know how to help me. He tried every trick he had. I wouldn’t talk to him, and when I did acknowledge him it lead to tears and outbursts. I snapped at the smallest thing. Finally one day I hit my breaking point. I broke down and cried in my porch as I was getting ready to go out. I finally admitted to myself and Chris that I couldn’t stand the standstill that I found myself in. We first visited our fertility clinic when I was 29. They told me that there was no real rush to get everything under control because I still had so much time before I hit that advanced maternal age of 35. I was annoyed but my thyroid levels were resting somewhere up in the stratosphere and I knew it wouldn’t be fixed overnight. But here I am, weeks away from my 31st birthday and we are still fighting with my thyroid levels and I still have no treatment options. I have no direction and each day is harder than the last. I ache for a child of my own, I ache to have direction, to have options, to have someone other than me to take this seriously. I tend to be vocal about our struggles, but this time I felt the need to hide and protect it. Cause who really wants to listen to my sob story anymore? I’ve been told as much from some people. So, feeling particularly vulnerable, I hid it away. It built up. That coupled with the fact that I’m suddenly one year closer to that evil age, that age that I move into a new category of childbearing (or at least attempting childbearing) and I just didn’t know how to process it.

So once I admitted the reason behind my breakdown, I just left and did what I had to do. I went to darts because I couldn’t stay home anymore. What I didn’t know was that my husband called my best friend. He felt helpless, so he called the one other person he knew could help me and really understand it on a level not even he can grasp. She also happened to be heading to darts and walked in after me. The rest of the group knew I was in an off mood so they were understanding and were nice but gave me space, but as soon as she walked in and I saw her face, I knew that she was talking to my husband. I like to sometimes call them It and Dit sometimes. They always seem to know how to fix me and they get along far better than anyone would expect a friend and a spouse would expect. But of course, I couldn’t talk to her without crying so she just sat next to me. Afterwards, her and her husband came down to visit and they just let me be me. The boys played video games while we hung out. She let me process what I needed to and let me finally give everything a name and let it out.

So now, despite feeling better, I’m still sick to my stomach about turning 31. Different groups of friends are asking me what I would like to do for my birthday. They keep making suggestions for supper, a house party, a game night with cake, and one friend (an esthetician) even told me to clear my schedule for the day before my birthday because she wants to treat me to a mani and pedi at the shop she works at. (Did I ever tell you that I have the best friends ever? Cause I do. I really, really do.) My mom plans on taking me shopping and going out for supper. My husband is finally listening to my years of telling him that my birthday is important and wants to do something and needs ideas. I ran into a friend tonight and she’s been asking me for weeks if I want to get together for my birthday and I keep on pushing it off. It’s to the point that people are worried. Yet I can’t even give them ideas. All I want is to freeze time at 30 until I have a child in my arms, maybe two if I’m lucky enough and then move on with time. But none of them can do that, so instead I’m finally getting what I always wanted for my birthday and this year I don’t want any of it. I just want it to be forgotten. Irony? I have it.

I really hate not enjoying my birthday. I hate that infertility has tarnished just one more thing I love despite my best efforts to keep the damage localized.

I don’t want to be damaged goods anymore.

Is that too much to ask?