There are women who become mothers without effort. And although they are wonderful mothers and love their children immensely, I know that I will be a better Mom than I would have been had I not endured the trials I have had over the last 3 years.
I will be a better mother not because of genetics, money, or that I have read better books, but because I have struggled and toiled for these kids. I have longed and waited, having lost three babies along the way. I have endured and planned over and over again. Like most things in life, the people who truly have appreciation are those who have struggled to attain their dreams.
I will notice everything about my children.
I will take the time to watch my children sleep, explore and discover.
I will marvel at this miracle every day for the rest of my life.
I will be happy when I wake in the middle of the night to the sounds of my children, knowing that I can comfort, hold and feed and that I am not waking because of my own nightmares and crying tears of a broken dream-My dream will be crying for me.
I have been given an insight, a special vision with which I will look upon my children. A vision that my friends may not see. I will not be careless with my love. I will be a better mother for all that I have endured. I am a better Aunt, a better Wife, a better Daughter, Neighbor, friend, and Sister because I have known pain, known disillusionment, been betrayed by my own body and been tried by a fire that many will never face. And given time, I stood tall.
So now, when others hurt around me, I do not run from their pain in order to save myself discomfort. I see it, mourn it and join them in theirs. I listen. And even though I cannot make it better, I can make it less lonely. I have learned the immense power of another hand holding mine, of others eyes that cry as they accept harsh truths, when life is beyond hard. Life’s lessons are often hard, but they lead to wonderful things. Through struggle, we learn compassion, caring, love and strength. Those lessons are invaluable as we go forward in life. I do not regret one second of my struggles, as there have been so many lessons along the way.
And for those who stood by me through this time, I’m forever grateful. The support of loved ones is such a comfort – I only hope I can repay it someday. Someday I will look back at the fertility struggle and it will be a memory. But I certainly will never forget how it touched my life; and I hope I never lose sight of helping others through similar struggles. Infertility is a very private, scary and daunting world. But there is a light at the end of the tunnel. My fellow sisters who are still struggling, don’t give up the fight. That reward is out there – just when you think you can’t do it any longer, you CAN. Dig deep.
Below is something I journaled in January 2006 - I wasn't blogging then but just came across it this morning as I was cleaning out old files. I think I'll hold on to this one. I guess things have come around - but as I said earlier, infertility cuts deep and that is just something that will forever be a part of me.
How do you do it? How do you keep going on and keep trying? How do you seem so OK? These are the questions my dear friends ask. But, really, most others don’t ask or say anything, for fear of saying the wrong thing. Sometimes that’s ok with me. Other days, it’s not ok. Depends.
It's inevitable: if ever there is a moment when I'm not thinking about children (or my lack thereof), right then a healthy normal woman will sashay by with a stroller and a baby on the hip, and my tiny bubble of peaceful distraction pops, like an ambulance at a picnic. Then the nagging is back. The nagging to eat better, to take my prenatal vitamins, to give myself my shots, to get that f/u appointment, to call the insurance company again. Oh, and send a gift and a card to the latest baby that was born over the last week or two. There have been 42 pregnancies announced amongst my friends & family since we started this journey in the fall of 2003. Yes, I’ve kept track of them; on a list. So, as you can imagine, there have been almost that many babies born, with the exception of those who are still in utero waiting to make their appearance. That’s a lot of baby announcements, baby showers & births. Not to mention the plethora of Christmas cards that come bearing photos of the rapidly growing families around us; while ours stays small, with just the two of us and the cats. We’re stuck.
If it's not nagging, it's worse. Will it ever be me? Will the babies around me ever stop coming? Will I exhaust my husband's good will & patience? Will our bank account survive the costs? Will our doctor give up on us? I'd like to ring that pony-tailed woman's neck for having everything that I want and cannot have. But alas, it’s not her fault. And I don’t begrudge her for wanting a family – afterall, it’s what we all want. It’s just that some of us take the hard road to get there – if we get there at all.
That's what it's like when you're living it, when infertility crosses over from the “I hope I can get pregnant easily when I want to” to the spiky trap you can't wiggle out of. Although I haven’t crossed over to the ‘fertile’ world yet, my bitterness has changed to thankfulness. My pain endures but is in a different category now. My patience are stronger than ever, and my endurance is endless. Somehow I feel empowered by those little angels that I’ve lost and that watch me from heaven. I really am a Mom, in some sense of the word.
Every baby is a miracle. A friend said that to me early in my journey and I appreciate those words the most of any that were ever spoken to me. Babies warm me. They remind me of the long road we’ve been down. They give me reason to keep trying for my own. They are innocent little miracles that cannot live without the loving hands of a mother and father.
I’ve learned so much. I have found new friends, that I would never have known had I not lost babies. I have found a new fond appreciation for my husband and his humor, love and caring ways. He’s a hero. We have had the occasion to love each other with a tenderness that the everyday hustle of life just doesn't afford. We ARE parents. Just not in this life, yet.
I don't know why we can't find these realizations under ordinary circumstances, or why it seems corny to make a toast to friendship at a dinner party or why it seems odd to hug your friend extra long and tell them that you love them or why people would think you were drunk if you got misty listening to good, live music. But I do know that that is the role of hardship. And I do know that those who dare to show up on the doorstep of hardship are the ones who get to learn these lessons.
So, this year, when I look back on the road that seems so long, there are many times when a nice feeling comes over me. I know something I didn't know last year. I met people I didn’t know last year. I loved more than I did last year. I appreciated more than I did last year. I smile. Sometimes I choke up, in the good way. I thank God that I have learned this lesson
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