We had a busy morning: playing with her animals, making a mess with "ghost mud", downloading Peppa Pig games, swinging, sliding, playing tag and hide-and-go seek, taking a bike ride around the block. It amazed me, as it does every time I see her, how grown-up she is! I don't mean that in a "grown-up too soon" kind of way; she absolutely has the sense of humor of a toddler; instead, I was struck by the actual conversations we had and her incredible imagination. I had so much fun.
While it would be easy for me to be grateful for the time I spent with Tia today; and don't get me wrong I am very grateful for those hours this morning; what I am grateful for is the feeling of content I had watching her play, chatting with her about her friends, listening to her pout about having to clean-up, and putting her down for a nap.
Time for some honest emotion sharing: There were times in the past that I would be playing with this beautiful little girl, and I would feel hopeless. I can vividly remember sitting with her looking up Disney princess videos on YouTube and fighting away this ache in my heart. I was sad. It didn't take me very long to realize where this sadness was coming from; I wanted a child.
Tia was born about 10 months after Justin and I got married. We always said we wanted to marry young so we could have kids right away. Obviously, things didn't work out that way.
I've had "girl-issues" for a long time, and it's something I always thought about in the back of my mind every time the topic of having children came up. I had a feeling, probably that women's intuition people always talk about, that I was not going to get pregnant on my own. I always knew, in my heart, that I was going to need some time of medical help. I just never realized what that journey was going to look like, and more importantly what the journey was going to mean for Justin and myself.
The physical impact infertility takes on a person is indescribable. The tests, the procedures, the blood work, the meds - it really kicks the crap out of your whole body. I won't go into details about my personal treatment, but trust me when I say it's the worst thing I've dealt with so far in my life. The emotional toll is a whole different beast. Not only do the hormones you're taking create a tornado of emotions (I vividly remember crying because the Christmas Tree was horrible, then 5 minutes later telling Justin how beautiful it was) but the complete upheaval of your day-to-day life creates a tremendous amount of stress. And it's not just the woman dealing with all of this. I won't put words into Justin's mouth, but I'm almost positive he was as stressed and as ready to be done with this whole thing as soon as I was. Our relationship took a hit.
We "took a break" from everything after our third failed procedure. We needed to regroup, reconnect, and just take time to breathe. It was during these treatments and this "break" that I noticed how difficult it was for me to be around my niece. That ache in my heart was overpowering. And it wasn't just my niece. I spend my days working with babies and toddlers, so there were just as many times at work that I would leave a house and feel completely drained; not from the actual visit, but from the ache. I just wanted to be a Mom. It started to feel like it was never going to happen.
I started questioning why I had to deal with infertility. Why anyone has to deal with it. It just didn't seem fair, and I will admit to getting angry on more than a few occasions. In my searches through the hundreds of infertility blogs online I came across a poem titled, "Why God Gave Me Infertility." I'll share with you:
What do I think God
meant when he gave me infertility?
"I think he meant for my husband and I to
grow closer, become stronger, love deeper. I think God meant for us to find the
fortitude within ourselves to get up every time infertility knocks us down. I think
God meant for our medical community to discover medicines, invent medical
equipment, create procedures and protocols. I think God meant for us to find a
cure for infertility.
"No, God never meant for me not to have
children. That's not my destiny; that's just a fork in the road I'm on. I've
been placed on the road less traveled, and, like it or not, I'm a better person
for it. Clearly, God meant for me to develop more compassion, deeper courage,
and greater inner strength on this journey to resolution, and I haven't let him
down.
"Frankly, if the truth be known, I think
God has singled me out for a special treatment. I think God meant for me to
build a thirst for a child so strong and so deep that when that baby is finally
placed in my arms, it will be the longest, coolest, most refreshing drink I've
ever known.
"While I would never choose infertility, I
cannot deny that a fertile woman could never know the joy that awaits me. Yes,
one way or another, I will have a baby of my own. And the next time someone
wants to offer me unsolicited advice I'll say, "Don't tell me what God
meant when he handed me infertility. I already know."
author unknown
I read this poem, saved it in a folder, and carried on with my life. Today, during my hours with Tia I thought back to the words this unknown author shared with the world -
"Yes, one way or another, I will have a baby of my own."
I will be a mother someday. And Justin will be an amazing father. It's what I was put on this earth to do. To bring a new life into the world, and love that little person with my entire heart and soul. I don't know when it will happen, but it will. There is, finally, not a doubt in my mind. And for that I am going to bed with a grateful heart.
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