I’ve spent some time taking stock of my life recently. Perhaps it’s the approach of my 39th birthday that has me thinking. Perhaps it’s the flood of emotion that was finally released when we were forced to give away one of our cats last weekend. Perhaps it’s simply waiting for my ever-elusive period in hopes of finally starting an injectables cycle.
I don’t really know.
What I do know is that I can’t keep living my life the way I have been the past few months.
I’d just turned 35 when my husband and I went on our first date. By that time, I was pretty well convinced that I would never marry – that I simply wasn’t meant to find someone to spend my life with. That wasn’t necessarily a devastating prospect. I’d fought hard to build a rich and full life with a career and wonderful friendships, and I’d grown to actually enjoy my own company and like who I was.
But I have to tell you, deep down my heart ached at the thought of never having someone to love and to be loved by. There were reminders everywhere of what I didn’t have. Silly little things got to me the most:
Christmas cards signed with an “and”. “Becky AND Larry” “Mary AND Alex.” I so desperately wanted to be a part of an “and”.
Valentine’s Day when all the world was in loving, committed, passionate relationships – except for me
watching a woman search through the racks of men’s clothes looking for the perfect shirt for her husband
glancing at the rows of “husband” cards at Hallmark wishing I had someone to buy them for
listening to couples bickering at the nursery about how to landscape their yards and wondering if they realized how lucky they were to actually have someone to bicker WITH
walking up the steps of my apartment night after night wishing there was someone on the other side of the door who’d been waiting to hear the sound of my key in the lock
Although my head was resigned to being alone, my heart refused to give up the dream of my husband. After all, I’d “known” him for a long time – as long as I’d cared about such things as love and marriage.
He would be a big ol’ teddy bear with a Southern accent that would make my toes curl.
He would be sweet and gentle and kind.
He would make me throw back my head and laugh every day.
My heart would flip-flop just looking at him across a room.
In his arms I would feel safe and protected from the world.
He would respect my father and get a kick out of my mother. They’d love him like a son.
Time spent together wouldn’t have to be a big production. We would be happy simply being with each other.
He’d listen – really listen to me and value what I had to say, even if he didn’t agree.
He’d teach me things he knew and want to learn from me the things I knew.
He’d think I was beautiful, even when I was wandering around the house in his old sweatshirt with scary hair and no makeup.
And then on April 26, 2003, there he was. When he walked into my apartment for the first time, it was like looking at the sun. I could only glance at him for a moment and then I had to look away. I’ve never experienced anything like it.
Four months later we were engaged and just over seven months later we were married.
I truly don’t have the words to tell you how much I love my husband except to say that he is the living breathing embodiment of all those things my heart knew he would be. He is not a perfect man but he is perfect for me. He is the answer to my most heartfelt prayer.
So in looking back at the past few months as I’ve stepped further into the world of infertility, I can see that I have once again allowed my focus to shift to what I DON’T have. I don’t have a baby. How can anything be okay in my world?
Yes, it’s only human to feel scared, sad, frustrated, and upset about being infertile. I don’t fault myself for that. The problem is that I gave myself to it. I allowed it to rule my life, to dictate how each day would go, to define me.
In doing that, I missed out on so much beauty, happiness, and love. There were family events when all I would think of was “Get me away from these children.” There were beautiful spring days when all I would do was sit inside and stare out the window. There were moments when my husband playfully reached out to tease me and I pulled further into myself and resented that he wasn’t paralyzed with sadness too.
I believe that one day I will look back on these years as the sweetest of our lives. We are both healthy. We still have each of our parents and they are healthy. We are ridiculously in love. We have built a beautiful home that is often filled with our wonderful friends and family. I refuse – I REFUSE to miss a moment of it because of infertility.
Yes, I want to have a baby. I want to see my husband hold our child in his arms. I think he would be a pretty spectacular daddy. But that’s either going to happen or it isn’t. Either medical science will help us create a life or it won’t. There is very little I can do about that - get the best medical care I can find, do what the doctors tell me to do, take care of myself, and pray. That’s it. The rest is up to God.
From there I have two choices.
I can continue to live my life from a place of resenting what I don’t have and letting it cloud and taint and define everything else or . . .
In the face of infertility, I can try really hard to remember that the struggle to have a baby is only one part of what is a really blessed and sweet life - a life that I don’t want to miss a moment of, whether we become parents or not.
Because after all, my most heartfelt prayer has already been answered.
