When I wake up in the morning I’m still in awe that this is happening. Not in a gushy, “Oh my word, Shawn, place your hand on my stomach” kind of cheesy realization. It’s more of a deep and quiet thankfulness as I think about what has and is happening. Every week that passes is so exciting for us. Every milestone, every fruit-to-baby size comparison, every appointment, every thing that makes this feel so real (hearing the heartbeat, seeing my belly grow, calling her by name) is a dream come true. Again, not in a pastel-colored rainbow kind of way, but in a “we prayed, and prayed, and prayed, and he has answered” kind of way.
But there’s this awkward pull that I often feel, and all I can really contribute it to is something similar to survivor’s guilt. For so long we battled this disease of infertility. It hurt, it was hard, and it felt unfair. And now, here we are on the other side! After all those prayers we’ve been ushered into the realm of the blessed. (Still a statement that brings mixed emotions for me, because we were blessed then too…)
For so long we didn’t know what would happen. We couldn’t control or change our circumstances. To me the timing of it all is a difficult thing to wrap my mind around. I would watch the months and the years pass, looking ahead to a new year with excitement and wonder, “Could this be the year that we’ll finally have a baby?” And time would pass on by. This idea of dreaming about how our family would grow was so far beyond our reach.
If I’m being perfectly honest, in some ways it doesn’t feel fair that I’m pregnant. Why should I receive this blessing? It feels too good to be true. What about the others still hoping, aching, and praying for a baby? At the same time, it doesn’t feel fair that for all those years I couldn’t get pregnant and others could. Why did I have to wait, to feel that bitter sense of cultural isolation, and grieve through six different losses? Why were they able to plan their families, have children without struggle, and experience new life without knowing loss? These are questions that are often on my mind.
It’s hard to break away from living in-between two worlds. I lived there in that world of infertility, loss, and heartache for so long. But by God’s grace I’m not there anymore. But my heart still knows that old zip code. I can relate to the women who are watching the year go by, not knowing when their adoption will be finalized, or if / when they can afford their next fertility treatment. I know how it feels to wonder if / when you should give up, or stop trying, or stop praying. Does there come a time when you stop praying for the same thing over and over? I know those emotions all too well, and the ups and downs that come with them. It feels never-ending sometimes. It stung when someone said to me the other day, “I’m Fertile Myrtle without even trying! I wink at my husband and get pregnant.” Well guess what… that wasn’t the case for us. That’s not the case for a lot of couples. They hear these comments, and see families growing, and they wonder if / when their day will ever come.
My heart still goes to bat for these women because I was in their shoes, and on their team for so many years. These comments, and the insensitive remarks are (still) hard to swallow. My heart will always be with these women because it’s a road I’ve walked. But it’s also a road I’ve survived. I hope that in some way, I can create a new path where we see and love the person. Not a mom, not an infertile woman, or a woman without kids, not a single woman, not a woman in waiting – just the person. I hope we can merge together on a path of acceptance, sensitivity, vulnerability, and hope. What’s it like for you? What are the challenges? What are the joys you’ve seen? Let’s point each other to a Jesus who cares for us as we are and where we are.
As I find myself on a new path, one we’ve prayed to be on, I feel this tug to want to tell everyone where we’ve been and how we got here. To me this isn’t just “any ol’ pregnancy” because it’s a miracle that it even happened in the first place. But as I’ve met people and shared here and there, I’ve realized that not everyone cares, not everyone will be sensitive, and I’ve found that it’s not very easy to explain in a casual social encounter the path we’ve walked. To even mention that we worked hard to get here, and that we did 4 IVF treatments, doesn’t really communicate the depth of where we’ve been. People don’t know the whole story. And it’s not really possible to jam 1000 thoughts into just a few minutes. And I’m trying to let that be okay. Not everyone has to know the whole story. At least not right away. But we know the story, we know what a miracle this is, and we know what God has done. And that’s what’s important.
My heart goes out to the women who are still waiting, praying, and hoping. At the same time, I decided early on that if this day ever came, I would be unapologetic with pictures, posts about the baby, etc. This is a day, a time we’ve waited for and it’s going to be celebrated at each and every step of the way, at each milestone that brings us closer to meeting our daughter.
I hope that the sharing of our story dares you to hope, to dream, to keep praying, to keep climbing. May it remind you that your story is not over yet. May it show you that God is always at work- through the sweet and the bitter times, he is there, he is God, is able.
A friend sent us the cutest little ballerina doll for the baby. There aren’t even words for the ‘hugeness’ of this season. We’ve waited, and waited, and now it’s HAPPENING, YOU GUYS! Our hearts and minds have a hard time taking it all in some times. But God is with us on every path we walk in this life. He’s there to hold us steady when it’s rocky, and to rejoice with us when we see the answers to a long-awaited prayer.