We're nearly three years into this grand lesson called marriage, and we've learned a lot- about ourselves, each other, marriage in general. All that knowledge is mostly good.
But one thing? One thing we've learned stands out... it's something I'd rather not have had to learn. We now know that getting pregnant- having kids- probably isn't going to be easy for us.
I could go on and on about my cycle length and my hormone panel results and basal temperatures and the doctors and the plans... but I won't. Not in this post, anyway.
.. .. .. .. ..
I have my days- sometimes I feel confident and trusting and hopeful. I know that God's in control and He knows what's best for me. I find the blessings, I avoid comparison. I'm content.
And some days I'm incredibly disappointed. I always expected- took for granted, even- that we'd have kids easily. I figured that having kids was something that we could plan for, prepare for, count on. But it's completely out of my control. I can't schedule this, can't plan for it. Because I just don't know.
Infertility has stolen my joy more often than I'd like to admit, ripping holes in my vision of God's goodness for me. I fight against it- because I know that circumstances can change, but the scars forming on my soul will be hard to heal.
I fight for that joy: counting blessings even when they seem small; praying boldly; beating back the lies in my mind that tell me that maybe this is my fault, that maybe I'm not cut out for it anyway, that God is love but He doesn't love me.
I compare myself to those around me. I take out my pain on my husband. I feel guilty for feeling sad, for feeling jealous, for feeling angry.
This is the cross we've been given to bear, and I don't always bear it well. Most of the time, I don't bear it well.
Then there are some days... some days when I get a glimpse.
When I come home from work and walk past the room that would be a nursery, and the sunshine dances over the rocking chair, and I suddenly see myself. Sitting in that chair, rocking a sleepy little one.
And just as suddenly, I'm alone and standing in the living room, staring at the rocking chair I stuck in the middle of the messy office.
Happy Mother's Day! (and why you don't need to feel sorry for me)
To My Pregnant Former Student
The Answers (The Ones We Know Right Now, Anyway)