When I started this blog, I was in the still hopeful early stage of infertility. I’ve moved into the middle age of infertility. It comes with acceptance and an edginess about our lack of childbearing. The acceptance allows us to think of other options like childlessness and adoption. The edginess gives me license to talk back and work the guilt factor.
Earlier this year, my teenage mentee had a baby. We went on a Target shopping spree to make sure she had everything she needed. About six weeks later, I started receiving baby magazines, coupons for baby merchandise, and offers of life insurance congratulating me on my new birth.
I love Target. I love the promise of a better home and look that the red symbol holds. It has buoyed me with retail therapy most of my life. It like my box store best friend. How could my BSBF do this to me? Their transgression is explained by NYT article attached.
I tried to email Target to demand an apology and cry “uncle”, but their website only allows 500 characters to communicate how their flippant use and assumptions of my purchasing habits is crushing my soul.
Here’s a copy of the email I would have liked to share:
I was once a regular Target shopper, but I will not be anymore and I’m writing to tell you why.
For the last two years, my husband and I have been trying to get pregnant. Infertility degrades your confidence and your sense of self. I tell you this, because you may not know the additive pain and misery of monthly cycles of hope and disappointment. You may not know how hard it is to smile when all your friends get pregnant, but you don’t. You may not know what it’s like to inject yourself in the buttock and belly in hopes of getting pregnant.
What you do know it that I bought baby goods at your store. What you don’t know is that I didn’t buy them for myself, but for a teenage mother that I mentor. And because of those purchases, I am getting DAILY reminders of my lack of motherhood. I received a baby magazine that I certainly did not sign up for. I received congratulations on my baby coupons. I received an invitation to buy life insurance.
Thank you for selling my personal information. Thank you for selling me and my empty womb out.
As part of my appreciation, I will avoid your store until I receive some form of meaningful apology and a retraction of my personal information from the companies with whom you do business.