Today, I have a guest post over at PAIL (Pregnancy/Parenting Through Adoption, Infertility & Loss) Bloggers . I’m tackling a topic I’ve been mulling over since the day I found out I was pregnant, one that I tried to get at a little bit in the hosted here last week.

Transition is such a loaded term in the infertility community, whether you’ve resolved or not. Moving from one stage of your cycle to the next, entering a new stage in your adoption process, or even in your own diagnostic journey of just trying to figure out what’s wrong: the landscape of trying to build our families is one of constant change. I feel like half the time, just as we get comfortable, we have to get up and shift gears, change plans and regroup.

Today I shared my thoughts on transition through the metaphor of travel. Infertility so lends itself to this metaphor, as evidenced by the title Melissa Ford’s book, . She opens her book with such a clear description of this journey that resonated so strongly with me three years ago when I first read it:

“Welcome to the Land of IF. I know, those are probably six words you never particularly wanted to hear. You don’t want to be here on this strange island… It’s hard to ignore one of the worst parts about this island: It’s situated so close to the mainland – you can see it over the horizon on a clear day. But even though there are daily departures, and even though it’s easy enough to end up here, it takes plenty of effort to get out.”

I followed up with my own thoughts on this idea of traveling through infertility, as my plane rumbles down the runway and toward lands unfamiliar:

I have always had a bit of wanderlust. I blame the Gemini in me and the Sagittarius at my side. Larry and I are wanderers, travelers, explorers. We don’t really do relaxing vacations: we hoof it, we hike it, we bike it – we want to see and do everything.

We’re also the folks who have their shoes in hand and liquids out in a bag ready to go at airport security. No fanny packs for us. Most of our maps are discreet, either on our phones or iPads or tucked into our single travel guidebook.

We’re travelers, not tourists.

And yet, I can’t shake this touristy feeling every time I engage in activities and feelings that “normal” pregnant women have.

Like I’m some kind of a phony.

Like I don’t belong here.

Like I’m the woman the locals keep casting sideways, disapproving glances at.

Part of me wishes I sported a visual cue, like, “See! Yes, I belong here! I’ve got a bump too!”

…As the locals snicker.

You can read the rest of the post, The Infertility Tourist and Getting My Pregnancy Citizenship , over at PAIL Bloggers.