Ever since I can remember, all I ever wanted to be was a mother & a wife. I wanted to be married young (check) and wanted to be a young mom (check). I love babies. Adore them. Not sure how many of them I want, but having one has been the most transformative experience of my life. Mostly, because of what it took to get to that point. (actually having her is a whole different story)
I wanted a baby looooooooong before I was able to have one. I remember throwing my last box of pills in the trash and getting giddy about the possibility of soon carrying a child. At the time, I was working for a large pharmaceutical company selling birth control. I was in OB offices all day long. I watched beaming mommies and their newborns every single day. I wanted that. I dreamed of that.
Month after month passed. Ovulation predictor kits. Charting. Temperature taking. I don’t know how many negative pregnancy tests there were. Each of them ended in tears. I was hopeless.”When are you going to have children?” I was asked, time & time again. I didn’t share my pain. “Oh, I don’t know, when my ovaries decide it is time, I suppose.” They would chuckle. Some would even tell me to enjoy my time without them. Apparently there were a thousand reasons to wait. So why do so many people who get pregnant effortlessly have so many negative things to say about their kids? Not fair. I vowed not to speak negatively about my child. Ever.
After ups & downs & a few pulled yanked strings, I was able to wiggle my way past the year long wait to see a military infertility doctor. (Indeed, we were put in San Antonio for a reason, as they have the only Infertility Clinic in the Air Force.) Tests. Tests. More tests. Diagnosis: uterine abnormality (this & a little of this) w/ significant chance of late term miscarriage. My heart broke. I was scheduled for surgery and put on an exploratory round of clomid, with the understanding this likely would not get my anovulatory body pregnant, given the condition of my uterus.
I was told not to not try.
Hot flashes.
Mood swings.
And the day before surgery…I cried harder than I ever had in my life. This time, tears of joy
I will never, ever forget that feeling.
I am at a place in my life where I am ready to open up & share this. I kept it all bottled up for a very long time. I think you can even see in these pictures, a substantial darkness, that is no longer present in my life, or my art.
This week is National Infertility Awareness Week. And I share this post with you to encourage sensitivity towards those who may be struggling. Many women keep this private & make it a deeply personal struggle. After all, sharing your “trying” means you have people begging for “news” every time they see you. Pain, pain & more pain. If you are struggling, it might be helpful to reach out to someone close who is struggling as well. Or who has overcome the heartache. We know how you feel. There is joy on the other side.
Never, ever, ever for one second will I take my daughter for granted. I know she is a blessing. She was wanted by both me AND my husband long before she made her debut. My little clomid baby. I know quite a few precious little clomid babies. I think they share something special. Moms who fight hard, hard, hard to have them. We all have a story. What’s yours?
