I wrote this blog over the last week and a half… editing it, subtracting from it, writing more as my heart and mind carried on. I wondered if I might just write it and keep it…but, I’ve decided to share it with you. It feels a bit more vulnerable this time, but maybe that’s why you need to read it. Have at it.
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“Debbie, can I talk to you?”
As we sat in her car, my mind mulled through the endless possibilities of what my friend was about to tell me. It seemed serious.
“I’m pregnant…”
Her words were shocking, because in all of my possible possibilities… this hadn’t even occurred to me. I laughed and was about to congratulate her when I realized that her exclamation hadn’t been one of excitement, but one of fear and sadness.
“Wait, are you not excited?”
“No…”
She went on to tell me how this wasn’t the plan. It wasn’t what she wanted, not right now. They had actively been trying to prevent pregnancy. “Condom baby” is what she called it.
It made me laugh all the more.
Because as she explained to me the situation, all I saw was God, the Creator of life, with His hand all over it. I laughed because try as we may to have a child and try as we may to not have a child… He is in control. And to me, it’s a really beautiful thing.
“But you need a baby. Not me. You deserve one.”
She kept making me laugh in her irrational, I-just-found-out-my-whole-world-is-changing frame of mind.
And I know it must feel like that. I know it must be somewhat horrifying to tell your friend who has been trying to have a baby that you, who doesn’t even want a baby, are pregnant. It must feel awful and agonizing – it must make one feel guilty, even if they have no reason to be.
But I loved that she told me.
I loved getting to be a tiny part of this newness and miracle- getting to see the Creator’s fingerprint undeniably all over this new life.
I loved that she let me celebrate with her and pray for her and remind her that this is good instead of just trying to protect me. I felt really honored in that, actually.
In some ways, that’s been the most painful part of this process. Feeling like people have to walk on eggshells around me or that I’m the last to know about exciting life events because no one wants to tell the infertile couple that they’re pregnant. Sometimes it makes me rethink my life mantra that being open and transparent is always better than be closed-off and secretive. Being transparent is kind of the worst when it breeds pity or this overwhelming urge to protect through secrecy or “perfect timing”.
I can handle it.
That’s the thing about mourning with those who mourn and rejoicing with those who rejoice…it isn’t contingent upon our circumstances. And as much as you might mourn with me when I express some confusion or sorrow about not being able to have children, I would hope that you would also allow me to rejoice with you when you find out that you can and are!
If there’s anything the Lord has taught me in this journey it’s that He’s got this. He’s in charge. He makes it happen. He breathes life. He takes it away. It seems to rarely be in our time or within our ability to understand, but it doesn’t negate His goodness in the midst of a thousand questions and all the unknowns.
There’s been a lot of freedom in this journey for me.
I hope you know that. I don’t agonize every day over my infertility. SOME days, I do. But they’re few and far between and generally just on the day I find out that I’m not pregnant, again. And then I move on. Because life is too short and the days are filled with laughter and tears and how I can be better at a million other things in life (maybe eventually I’ll add being fertile to that list).
Ironically enough, today is one of those agonizing days. And tomorrow I’m sure I’ll move on. Again.
I spent the last week thinking I was most likely pregnant.
Like, actually pregnant.
In our 2.5 years of trying, this has only happened a few times. And none of them have really ever felt like this. In fact, I’ve been so nonchalant about having a kid lately that the prospect of actually having one caused my thoughts to get a little crazy, a little futuristic (something I actually have felt like the Lord was protecting me from).
But not this time. My sleep was fitful, my brain brimming with an endless amount of questions about life as a pregnant lady, as life with a baby. What would full-time child care look like if I wanted to keep working? What would the baby room look like? What types of maternity clothes would I have to get? Would we want to know the gender?
These are questions normal people probably already know the answers to if they’re trying to get pregnant. I guess, in our long stint of no pregnancies, I hadn’t really taken the time to put much stock into figuring out the answers. Just peeing on a stick and seeing a “pregnant” was mostly my goal. As if that were the final success and that there wasn’t much more to worry about beyond that. Crazy how a single occurrence on the porcelain throne can be life-changing.
But then there’s a week when you’re out-of-nowhere nauseous and you’re exhausted and sore and everything you know about pregnancy signs are happening and all you can do is wait. Wait until you can take a pregnancy test or start your period. Wait and pray. Wait and hope. Wait and freak out.
Because as excited and hopeful as I got and the nearer to taking a pregnancy test that I got…my mind became frantic when I, once again, thought about everything that changes the moment a new life comes into this world. Once again, the questions: do I want that? Can I do that?
It wasn’t long before the question was answered for me, even though it felt like an eternity.
Not pregnant.
Again.
And as much as I can feel relief in that, there’s some incredible amount of sadness that still pervades my heart and soul. Like I’ve lost something that I never had. Maybe it was hope.
I woke up this morning mad.
Mad at my body for teasing me and causing me to think about all the possibilities.
Mad at myself for not even knowing what I want.
Mad at obsessing over 5000 websites all weekend, scrutinizing every story and wondering if that might be me.
Mad at myself for holding onto hope.
Mad at the world for not relating to me.
Mad, because I feel alone.
And, mostly just sad.
Sad because this journey, while still freeing, is getting harder. Sad because this time I invested a little bit more.
So here we are.
Mourning and rejoicing.
Trusting and releasing.
Living and hoping.
And recognizing that with the possibility of much joy, I’m also more susceptible to much pain.
Let’s cry and laugh in the Lord’s goodness and weep in the unknowns.
But let’s never stop trusting that His plan is infinitely greater, better, more beautiful.
After all, haven’t I seen His goodness evidenced over and over again in my life already?
So here’s the deal.
Let me rejoice with you, and I’ll let you mourn with me. It’s the only way this works. And maybe tomorrow, I’ll mourn with you and you’ll rejoice with me.
But please don’t shield me from your good. Because even though it’s not always mine, it still serves to remind me that there’s hope, there’s joy, there’s life outside of me.
And, we have a doctor’s appointment next week.
So cheers to all the things.
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