Pretend for a minute that you want to admit that you have seen the movie Mean Girls.
I'll go first. "Guilty, your honor."
There is a scene in the film where one of the characters is describing the school cafeteria. The camera pans out to show a drawing of how the girls perceive the social divisions of the school.
There are several tables occupied by a variety of different school cliques. There are the geeks, techies, weirdos, dropouts, and, of course, the clique the audience loves to hate (and covet simultaneously) - the plastics.
Characters walk into the cafeteria and know where they belong. They dare not venture where they do not fit in the hierarchy. Someone designated the spot. Even if they covet another clique, they ought not go outside their social class. Perhaps a social promotion will ensure. One can only hope.
If there were cafeteria tables for your current social situation, you might feel a little like you were living in the scene described.
The first table hosts the newlywed women who are enjoying their date nights, having playful, uninterrupted sex, and enjoying spontaneous adventures on the weekends. Having recently secured their partner, they have only hopes and dreams ahead on the horizon. Their naïveté is undeniable. Set before them are only their hopes and dreams of a family. I was there once; were you?
At one table, you would find the young moms. Glowing in their exhaustion. Reveling in their stretch marks. Confident in their new clique. Oblivious to the group they left behind due to their seamless promotion to the new table. They have everything you have only dreamed of. They have experienced the joy of the mama-to-be parking when they registered for all the glorious mama-to-be paraphernalia. They have the maternity photo shots with the naked bellies. They have had their gender-reveal party. They perhaps know what an episiotomy is and what an epidural feels like. They have the whole package. They are the maternal plastics.
Sitting at a table farther away are the moms of the school-aged children. They have this mama thing down. They have survived the toddler years and are confident leaving their children in the care of another, unlike the previous grouping. They can go on date nights again and eagerly await autumn as they push their sweetie children back onto the school bus. Their stomachs have shrunk, and they may even long to try again for another child. If not, they are urging their partners to schedule an appointment with their urologist for the dreaded vasectomy - if only our partners were so lucky to be faced with that decision.
Another table hosts the women who have recently launched or are ready to launch their children. They appreciate their mama role as they are about to graduate from the intensity of it. The children who belong to the moms at the other tables are currently being cared for by these women, who are stuck with I-remember-when-my-child-was-this-young bewilderment.
Last we find ourselves observing the wannabes' table. The waiting mamas sit there. Invisible, at least it seems. Quietly coveting. Insecurely processing. Blotting the corners of their eyes while they other women roar with laughter, not at you, but it feels like it. You hope to be promoted one day. For now, however, you sit, head down, focusing on your food. Hoping that, like in high school, you don't start your period.
The divisions of the cafeteria are perhaps more observable from your table. All the people in the room are women. Biologically speaking, all the same. However, despite the life stage of the kiddos represented, one thing divides the women in the room. Some are moms. The others just aren't (yet).
I (Cathie) ended my reproductive journey at the final table. I know the pain. If this resonates with you, please reach out for support. We have therapists and an infertility support group designed to support you on your reproductive journey.
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