Maybe I had wildly unrealistic expectations, but the monthly disappointment was a foe I gravely underestimated. It's a beast that tore me to shreds and left me weaker in spirit each time. I have a new respect for women who battle infertility—they're warriors Franco, with fortitude forged out of steel. Wanting a child so badly and not being able to conceive feels like punishment. Like the universe is denying my worthiness to mother a child. It's fucking hell. Couple that with the fear that my lady parts are a grenade set to go off soon and it's too much. I can't take disappointment when it
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