For those who have known me a while, or even those who haven’t known me long, it’s no secret that my biological clock is not only ticking, it’s going crazy. It has been for a long time.
Years ago, in what seems like a different life, I went through infertility treatments. It was exhausting, depressing, embarrassing, and all the other “ing” words I can think of. The hormones made my body feel like I was going through menopause. Hot flashes, mood swings, insomnia.
But the worst part was the failure. Literal and emotional. As a woman, it’s my job to have babies. I know it sounds archaic, but really, it is. And I want them. I will be a good mom. I had the best role model ever, there’s no way I can fail.
I realized after those treatments failed that they failed for a reason. The man I was trying to start a new life with was not the right one. Our marriage had been failing for years, and maybe the idea of having a baby made me unconsciously think that the relationship would fix itself if a baby came. I know that’s wrong. If a girlfriend had said the same thing to me, I would have told her that adding a baby to an already ill marriage would only make things worse.
And God knew that I could not be attached to my ex-husband for the rest of my life.
And so now here I am. Married to The Man. The love of my life. He’s an awesome dad, we’re deeply in love, and desperately want to add to our family.
And I’m terrified.
Alvin and I have been “trying” for a baby for over a year. And it hasn’t worked. So now I’m faced with the fact that when my husband returns home next year I’m going to have to undergo infertility treatment again. Hormones and shots and embarrassing ultrasounds. Counting and praying and hoping and disappointment.
But this I know: there will be a baby at the other end of the journey. Because this is the right time, the right man. The right family. And we deserve this.
I admit, I’m so jealous. I am. I am so jealous of women who seem to get pregnant so easily. I’m angry at those who get pregnant and are angry or disappointed. They just don’t know how blessed they are. And, who am I kidding, I’m just plain green with envy of anyone who is pregnant or holding their little one to their heart.
I’m happy for them. I smile and hug, get excited for them. I hold their babies and cuddle them close. It’s the oddest emotion to be so elated for someone I love, and jealous of them at the same time.
My heart weeps for my child. My arms ache to hold my baby. I yearn to feel it grow inside me, to rock her to sleep, to watch my husband hold her and fall asleep with her sleeping on his chest, to watch my kids’ eyes smile with wonder as they touch her tiny hands and toes.
I want that. More than I ever have.