I know, I know, life isn't fair.

The low point of my infertility was when they found the baby in the snow-covered garbage bag outside the local hospital.

I came off the couch, my knees hitting the floor, knuckles buried in the plush carpet in front of me as I leaned forward, bound to the news coverage. Tears were streaming down my face as I whispered, over and over, "I would have taken him."

The baby survived. They found his mother. She got him back, with the requirement that she take some parenting classes.

I was livid. It's not that I can't understand and feel for the girl that bore this baby. She was a teenager, scared, with the bad judgment we all had at that age. And I certainly don't want the government to be too casual or quick in taking children from their parents.

But do you know what it takes to become an adoptive parent? The kind of white glove inspection your life, finances and home have to undergo to be approved to adopt? You just about have to be Mary Poppins to adopt a child. Which isn't a bad thing. You can't just let children go into situations where they'll be mistreated; the biological parents of that child and the people overseeing the adoption have an obligation to make sure that child is going into a safe and healthy family.

Except that a biological parent is assumed to be fit until proven otherwise.

It's so frustrating to have to sit there and watch people mistreat their children, when you'd practically sell your soul to have one of your own. All the understanding in the world doesn't make it any easier to be told that you're not good enough to be a mother, just because your body doesn't work.

It wasn't fair. I knew I would be a good mother, but the girl who left her newborn in the snow to live or die, depending on chance, was the one holding a baby that night. And I might never have that opportunity. It just wasn't fair.