if you read
this post a couple weeks ago, you may have concluded that the hubs and i are going through IVF as i type. we have been trying to grow our family and get pregnant for over six years now. and it has been one hell of a journey.
from the initial months of disappointment (which i roll my eyes at now when others who just gave birth to their 2nd or 3rd child say to me, "
oh gosh, i remember the four months we tried and how disappointed we were") to the bitterness and jealousy i once felt towards everyone and anyone who got pregnant, to the baby-showers i felt like i was going to throw up at from holding in my tears, or the most recent feelings of simple hopelessness.
the roller coaster has been real. full of disappointment, anger, frustration, sadness, loneliness, hope and then more despair. you name it, we've felt it.
though it has sucked. and i won't sugar coat it for anyone. i will say that the journey has also been one hell of a great lesson. or maybe i should say a bunch of great lessons. lessons that i will take with me for the rest of my life and never,
ever forget.
never.
:: for starters,
i will never forget the journey. i don't care how long it takes us to go from the 'have-nots' to the 'haves,' -- once our dream comes true (through adoption, fostering to adopt or conception), i will always remember the difficulty it took us to get there.
not because i want to be negative or hang onto the ridiculous path we walked. but more so, for the sake of other women walking that same path. lets be honest here, can i? i have experienced watching more women weep, cry, complain and feel the ache any woman feels when wanting to get pregnant and then once she is, and once she holds her baby -- once she becomes a part of the 'haves' group -- drop those of us still walking this lonely road like a brick in water. she negates to mention her gratitude daily (or even weekly for that matter) because it seems as though she is now consumed by her little miracle.
and let me be straight: i am celebrating her gift! i genuinely am. i am not bashing her baby glory in any way, shape or form. i'm not. but when her whole life was once consumed with connecting and reaching out and talking to those still on the path and she (for lack of a better word), 'disappears' into the abyss of babyhood -- her disappearance seems a bit harsh to those still on the path she once traveled not too long ago.
forgive me. i know it is easier said than done. i know that once that little miracle arrives, your world is turned upside down. you can't help but stare at them. hold them. take pictures of them. talk about them like they are the only living baby on this earth. i know that the miracle when it arrives fills your heart to the brim that all you want to do is avoid any and all negativity, sickness, discouragement, toxicity you can. you want to absorb every single second with this little one and breathe in every one of their breaths. you want to never put them down. you don't want to hear them cry, and you want to be able to fix it every time they do. you want to put a plastic bubble around their little selves to protect them from this harsh world. you want to protect their hearts as you pray they never ever have to hurt half as much as you have in your life's walk. you cry at the thought of not seeing their twinkling eyes and you melt into their touch. you ask them what it is like talking to the angels before their arrival and if they'll ever tell you the secrets of the world. you are totally, 100%,
absolutely,
positively,
captivated by their being. i know.
i
do know this. i know this because we
had that miracle for six months of our lives. we
lived it. we embraced it. we celebrated it. we cherished it. we consumed it. we ate it whole. we drank it in. and
we thanked God every single hour of every single day for allowing our hearts to feel the best feeling in the entire world. we thanked God for allowing us to call ourselves: mom and dad.
but we never forgot. i never forgot. i never forgot those women whose hearts were so heavy they felt like they were going to die. whose hearts hurt so badly they had to remind themselves to breathe. i never forgot that while i was floating on cloud nine, others were still longing for a glimpse of this feeling.
i never forgot it.
my life didn't become post after post on facebook about my little sweetie (though it was tempting). my blog didn't become a mommy-baby blog. my life was baby. and everything around me became baby. and i officially understood what it was to want my entire life to be: baby, baby and more baby.
everywhere i looked, i saw a cute outfit, toy bin, article on how to be a good mom, what to feed, what not to feed them. i saw fingers start to stretch out and attempt to grab a toy and i wanted to tell all my neighbors: "
baby trinity just grabbed a toy!! can you believe it?! she is so smart!
i mean, i know i'm her momma, but i genuinely think she's the smartest baby around." every time she would look at me and we would talk, i would think, "
what's your first word gonna be little girl? because i hope it's momma. or puppy. or dadda. in that order, okay?" just kidding. and then i'd wink at her.
for those six months, i prayed that she would stay with us forever. i pleaded that God would have mercy on our story. on her story. i asked him to let us feel these feelings for the rest of our lives, and i even told him that i would never forget the journey here. i wouldn't complain when i only had 30 minutes of sleep a night or when she cried for no reason. i bargained with him that this long journey would make me thank Him more. i did. i told Him that i wouldn't complain about what most moms complain about. Not that it wouldn't be hard. not that it wouldn't get tough. not that it wouldn't suck. i even told Him that though he'd probably hear some complaints from my heart, he'd never hear them from my lips.
because this joy that i felt. this unbelievable love that was overflowing from my soul, well, i wanted to keep it forever. and ever. and ever.
i wanted it to consume my monday through fridays.
i wanted it to stay put.
and never leave. because all those difficult, lonely and sorrow-filled days just seemed to disappear and be worth it when i felt these fabulous feelings. it was all worth it, i told Him. all of it. every single tear. every single day. every single heartbreaking baby shower was worth it. and though it was worth it, i still would never forget it.
never.
because my heart still wandered to those women, praying for their journey. some i knew. most i didn't. i still prayed for their peace. pleaded with God to let them feel this sweet love in their own arms, and begged for mercy to drop on their path.
i continually reminded myself on days when i avoided those women after being blessed with our little bean that i walked a long path for a reason. my journey was tougher than many others because God wanted to use it for His good. my treacherous road was put in my life because He knew and still knows that i will
get it. i will never, ever, ever forget the pain i felt, the roller coaster of emotions, the loneliness in my heart.
and even though we lost baby trinity. even though we had to say goodbye to her, even though i entered right back into the 'have-nots' - - i still consider myself a part of the 'haves' group.
because i 'have' so much.
the journey is and continues to be long and hard but more so . . . full of gorgeous, beautiful cobblestone pieces cemented into my heart and never to be forgotten.
never ever.
because on this celebratory path of mine that we hope to embrace one day very soon . . . i will cross another woman's stone, i will come face to face with another broken heart, a lonely girl will read my words and find hope in the long journey.
and i will be there, despite my heartache being turned into joy : to cheer her on.
to remind her that she is
not alone.
to take her hand and walk
with her. even when i just want to enjoy my blissful state.
i think that lifting others up happens more when we are not hurting and they are. when we could be spending our days clapping and cheering and rolling around in our own blessings, we must step back and see how we can use this God-given mercy to assist others in hanging onto hope. i think that the days when life is just simply good -- we search for ways to make others' days better.
and then we wrap our arms around theirs via cyber space or in person, and say to them:
hang onto hope. and right now, even in your dark hours:
let me believe in happy endings for you.
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