Why Infertile People are so Angry

In the last few days there have been several posts that I've seen, both on other people's blogs, and my personal page that have brought out the angry infertiles. Especially this one. I've even lost a few friends because of my bitterness and anger. As I reread the comments that I, and other people wrote I started to wonder how someone that hasn't walked a mile in these barren shoes of mine would view us. The one thing that stood out to me is how angry and bitter we all sound.

Why is that?

It's because we're walking around with a huge, gaping, bleeding, infected wound that just won't heal. It's so sore and tender. And you won't quit rubbing salt in it.

The worst part is, you don't even know you're touching it, let alone that your hands are covered in salt. You have no idea.

We know that you don't realize that you're doing it. But you not knowing you have salt on your hands doesn't make the burning pain hurt any less. You not realizing that you're touching our wound doesn't mean we don't feel the pain long after you've forgotten our interaction.

We have to walk around every single day with these huge, ugly wounds and pretend that we aren't in near constant agony.

Every day we see your pregnancy announcements.
Every day we see you posting ultrasound pictures.
Every day we listen to you complain about your kids.
Every day we hear another news story about another abused, neglected, or murdered child.
Every day we listen to you tell us to adopt.
Every day we hear you telling us to be patient.
Every day we get the same lecture about God's timing, our age, and how we haven't been trying all that long.
Every day we hear stories of people getting pregnant after years of infertility.
Every day we listen to you tell us what you think we're doing wrong.
Every day we get told to stop trying.
Every day we get asked to hold your newborn because you think it'll make us feel better.

And some days...it's just too much. There are too many of you coming at us in all directions. Poking. Prodding. Rubbing salt in our wounds. Wounds that you can't see. Wounds you don't even know are there. And we just can't. It hurts so bad we just want to scream.

And those screams, they so often come out in harsh, angry words and bitter tears.

It isn't your fault.

We know it isn't your fault.

We're so sorry that we took it out on you.

But it just. Hurts. So. Much.

Some days we just can't keep it together any longer. All the prayers and the tears and the wonderful support you give us get momentarily overlooked while we cry out in pain.

We really are sorry we act this way.

We don't like it either.

We want to rejoice with you.

We want to support you.

And the parts of us that aren't so broken and scarred do.

We are truly happy for you.

But we're also sad for us.

And, unfortunately, that sad tends to escape more often than not.

We're working on it.

We've got the stitches and the antibiotics ready.

But there are so many of you coming at us all at the same time that it's impossible to heal because every time we start to, just a little bit, someone new comes up with their salty hands and aims right at the most tender part of us.

Thank You For Not Inviting Me.

Source

Dear Friend,
I was invited to your graduation party, your bridal shower, and your wedding. I was very grateful to be there to help you celebrate these momentous occasions, knowing that I matter enough to be invited means the world to me.

Now that you're expecting though, I couldn't help but notice you posting about a baby shower. A shower I wasn't invited to.

Thank you.

Thank you for thinking of me, thank you for understanding my pain and not judging me for it. Thank you for crossing me off the guest list. Thank you for caring enough about me to NOT send me an invitation.

We're close enough that I know it isn't because you don't want me there. I know it's because you don't want me to feel like I have to be there. You want to save me the pain of wandering the baby aisles to find you a gift. You want to save me the pain of letting you down when I find a lame excuse not to come.

You want to save me the pain of feeling like a jealous jerk-face for crying all the way home, and maybe having to leave early because it's just too hard.

I can't thank you enough for thinking enough of me, and caring enough about me to not have any expectations of me, and to not make me feel pressured.

I know being the pregnant friend of an infertile person can't be easy, but I want you to know that I noticed. I noticed that you call to check in on me and don't mention your pregnancy unless I do.

I noticed that you don't ask about the adoption process unless I want to talk about it.

I noticed you pay attention to the things I posted and thought to leave me off the guest list.

I'm sorry I can't be a better friend to you, but thank you for being a good enough friend to not invite me to your baby shower. You'll never know how good not getting an invitation made me feel.

-Your infertile friend  

Almost Parents.

 

Our almost adoptions are something I don't talk about often. For a few reasons. One of the main ones being that I'm friends with and genuinely care about all of the people that we've had "almost adoptions" with and I don't want to hurt them or make them feel bad for the choices they made. Another is that it makes me feel like a failure as a human.

There, I said it. I feel like my inability to not only conceive but also successfully adopt a child is a huge personal failure on my part.

I'm not even going to tell you how many times we've been *this close* to being parents just to have something happen, it's absolutely horrifyingly heart-wrenching.

I want to make one thing clear before I even get started, we have no hard feelings towards the women that have changed their minds about having us adopt their children. Each of these women had their own struggles and reasoning for even looking into adoption, and each had their own reasons for choosing to keep them. None of these women intentionally hurt us by beginning down the path to adoption and then changing their minds. I honestly believe that at the start of each of these journeys these women were certain in the decisions they made and simply had a change of heart later on.

I love each of these women dearly and we have no hard feelings towards any of them. The pain we feel is not their fault, and I am NOT writing this to make them feel guilty. In fact, I normally avoid talking about it so that I don't hurt their feelings.

But, I need to talk about it. For me. For my broken heart. And, maybe for you, too. Maybe you need to hear that you aren't alone and that someone else has felt this.

But, I need them each to know that this isn't about them, that my hurt isn't about them, my anger isn't from them. And I need you to not be angry at them for their choices either.

Things happen. Plans change, life moves in ways we can't predict. That is no one's fault.

Having an adoption get derailed is the strangest kind of mourning. It's hard to know how to feel, and you just feel all mixed up and broken.

First you feel let down and disappointed, you tried not to get your hopes up in the first place...but you did anyway. As soon as you have that awkward conversation that starts out with "I know I promised you, but..." your heart plummets right out of your chest. You curse yourself for ever letting your stupid hopes get up in the first place, for ever believing that someone would actually want you to parent their child, for ever thinking that you were good enough to be a parent. You feel dejected and unworthy. Every. Single. Time.

Then come the tears. These are always saved until after "the talk" the one that ends it all. These are not pretty tears, these are shirt-drenching, body-wracking, ugly sobs of defeat, bitterness, jealousy, and just about any kind of sad you can think of.

These emotions probably don't come as a surprise to anyone that hasn't dealt with this. That actually sounds pretty normal, I'd bet.

The weird part is twofold.

The first part being the mourning. The baby didn't actually die, but rather isn't existing in your life, so the plan and the idea of parenting that child does die. So, you begin the normal grieving process that we humans go through when we lose a loved one. But, it feels really weird to grieve the loss of a living person, morbid almost. You feel selfish for mourning someone that was never really yours to lose in the first place. You also feel selfish and guilty for mourning the loss of someone that is being celebrated as an addition to another's life.

Actually, now that I think of it, I wonder if that's how parents that choose adoption for their children feel? I would imagine so.

You are grieving and mourning what almost was, yet you feel AWFUL for doing so.

The second part of the weirdness comes in with the happiness you feel.

Yes, happiness, joy over a new life coming into the world, joy for someone choosing to parent their child. Joy for THEM. Happiness for THEM.

Even though it hurts for you, you do feel joy for them. It feels like you're being split in half by the grief and the joy. The two emotions are at war with each other, and each wins a few battles.

I can't really say which wins the war in the end, ours is still going on. And, everyone's war is different. It's personal. The emotions I described may not be what you felt if you've gone through this, but they're what I've experienced.

What I am experiencing.

It's been several years since our first, and only weeks since our last two, yes, I said two, I won't really elaborate on that, but there it is.

We still find ourselves wondering about the first one.

Sometimes we sit and cry for hours and just hold each other while praying for each of those precious children that have lives and homes elsewhere. It comes out of nowhere and hits you like a freight train.  They may never know how close they came to having an entirely different life, but we do.

That may be for the best, then again, it may not be. Only God knows that.

Either way, for us, for right now, it sucks.

It hurts.

My heart is broken and every day I wonder what I've done wrong. Every day I ask God why I can't have a child, why we're always so close, yet so far away from parenthood.

I don't have answers for you, or for me.

I don't have something I need to hear, or anything you can do to fix it.

I just need to express what I'm feeling, I just need you to at least try to understand why I am the way I am.

Eventually it hurts a little less, but every *almost* child we have adds a new scar to our hearts. They never fully heal, they're always a little tender to the touch. And every talk of adoption, every unwed mother upset about her pregnancy, every news story about another murdered, abused or neglected child, every talk about abortion, every pregnant family member is another touch on each of those scars.

One would think that every time this happens you'd grow a little more numb to it. But, no, it seems to be the opposite. Every scar leaves you a little more sensitive to the topics that touch them.

This is why telling us to do foster care, just adopt, or that we can have your kids really eats at me. I know you mean well, I really, really do. But, don't you think we've thought about these things? Talked about them, maybe even explored them? We have. We are. I don't mean to wince when you say these things, but you're hitting on my wounds and scars.

Does this mean we're giving up? No. Some days I'd like to, some days I think that all of this is God telling me I suck too much to have children ((yes, I know how irrational that sounds))

But, we're not giving up. We just have to keep trying, and yeah, maybe we have to keep hurting and never fully heal. Maybe we'll have to go through many more almosts. Maybe the next time will finally be forever.

We just have to keep trusting and loving God and each other.

That may sound insane to you, to willingly put ourselves out there to potentially risk this crippling pain again and again, but it's because we know a simple truth: They are worth it.

Our children are worth it.

They are worth every single tear, every scar, every hurt, every almost. We love them, even though we don't know them and may never know them. They are completely and totally worth every single second of what we're enduring. Even though many days it doesn't feel like it, we know they are.

Yes, we know we may never have kids, we know we may never meet our children.

We also know it won't be for lack of trying on our part.

We aren't going to say no to the next offer of adoption, we aren't going to say no to tying to conceive naturally, and we aren't going to say no to a child in need.

Sure, they may end in heartache again, and again, and again. We could avoid the heartbreak and all the pain by just quitting and saying no, we could do that.

But, doing so could mean saying no to our children, saying they aren't worth the fight.

They are.





 

In Response to Attention Seeking Facebook Posts

We've all seen those pictures floating around Facebook, someone holding up a sign saying something along the lines of; "1,000,000,000 likes and my mom will get me a puppy!" or "250,000 likes and my sister names her kid Darth Vader!" You know what I'm talking about. Generally I just roll my eyes and continue along my merry way. Today I saw one that stopped me in tracks. It made me hurt and angry, and not at  the person holding the sign, but at our society and the way we view things.

My first thought was; "It's just someone's idea of a joke." True enough, that is likely exactly what is. But, it's not funny in the least. I'm not even sure where to begin on this one. So many problems here. 

Let's start with the broad idea of these types of posts. Notability. The only reason people ever post these types of things is to get noticed. Obviously. They want to get people talking, of course it works, here I am talking about them! I find that in itself really sad. The ridiculous lengths people will go to to get noticed. Are we that starved for attention? Or is it that we dish attention out in such hearty portions that we're always craving more? It's so strange, all of this viral sensation stuff. It's actually really easy to be noticed on social media these days. All you have to do is take a crazy photo, make an alarming video, or publicly shame your kids, and BAM! Fifteen seconds of fame on a silver platter.  Honestly, it's so ridiculously easy and "mainstream" to have a bit of fleeting social media notoriety that I don't even know why anyone bothers. That's just me...I recently realized I'm becoming a hermit, so I'm clearly not in the mood to become a viral sensation for a quarter of a minute...I'm too much of a hipster for all that nonsense. Anywho, back to my point, I find this type of pleading for attention really sad. I find it even sadder that it's not coming from a lack of attention given to us, but more of an over abundance. Anytime that lessens or isn't enough anymore we then have to seek it out on these huge national and global platforms. That's really depressing, and a huge reflection on our culture. Not only that we are so used to receiving gobs of attention that we have to take to such displays, but also that we don't have better things to devote our attention to. Things are so fleeting in our culture that people like this guy are a dime a dozen and there will be another along tomorrow. So, the little bit of notability he's gained from this will be replaced by something similar in the morning.

After our need for attention is the need for approval. "I need 50,000 people to like this to feel important and validated for my desire for_____" That's really what these are all saying, isn't it? So funny that in a culture of "to each their own" and "don't judge anyone for anything" we care so much about what others-complete and total strangers-think. The whole premise of these types of posts is rooted in the need for attention and approval. We're a self centered lot aren't we? 

Now that we've covered the generals, let's talk specifics shall we? As soon as I read the words "I'll give you a baby..." I cringed. GIVE. GIVE?!?!?!? You GIVE someone a CD, an ugly sweater, a fruit cake. A baby is a living, breathing human being not an object to be given on the whim of someone else. Again, this is not an attack on this guy, I'm just using this example because it encompasses so much of the problems in our society. We view people as objects so much it's no wonder that we can easily equate a child to a sweater. Oh, I get asked when I'm going to "give" my husband a child, and my mother a grandchild all the stinking time. The answer to that is never. No, I'm not saying I'm never going to get pregnant or adopt ((this is a Catholic infertility blog for crying out loud)) I'm saying that I'm never going to birth or adopt a child to appease someone else's desire for a new title. Because a child is not an object, but a little tiny human being belonging only to God and themselves it's not really my place to go giving them away like I did a basket of fudge the other day, now is it? No. I may one day birth/adopt a child that will change my husband's title to "dad" and mine to "mom" but I am never going to "give" him or myself, for that matter, a child. A person is not an object to be desired and given. A child is a person deserving of love, care and respect from the moment of conception to the moment of death. Sure, they may depend on me for a time, or perhaps for their entire lives, but that does not give me ownership over them, and that does not make them an object to be tossed aside with last year's iPhone. I have never in my life owned an iProduct, just sayin'

Secondly, the concept that having children is something we do just because it suits us. Here's where I'm going to be a selfish person. I bleeping hate it when I hear people say; "We decided if we were going to have kids, we better get it done, so we did." or "I'll have a baby when___" I decided I'd have a baby approximately nine months after my wedding. That worked out well, didn't it? For those of us that would give their left foot for a chance at parenthood these things are really hurtful and inconsiderate. How do you think the woman that has been desperately longing for a child for the last ten years feels when you casually talk about whether you'll "give" your spouse a baby or not? It breaks her heart to hear you casually discuss how much power you have to determine when, if and how you'll have children just like you're picking out which sweater you'll buy. No, we shouldn't center everything we do and say around how others feel, but in situations like this it certainly doesn't hurt to take into consideration that while you just get to wake up one morning and decide whether or not you'll become a parent other people are waking up in a pool of tears from another night of longing and want for something you casually toss aside.

How very loving, and giving this marriage must be. She has the uterus, so she determines when the babies come? Yes, feminists, I heard that. Clearly I don't feel that we have any right to control when/if another person is born, but I also think that if you are going to make any life decisions in a marriage you need to make them together. So, I suppose if your fertility is something you're controlling then yes, it should be an equal decision. It shouldn't be JUST a woman's decision because she has the uterus. Could you imagine the uproar if I had posted a picture of ME holding up a sign that said; "My husband said 'I'll give you a baby the day you get 50,000 likes on FB' (Then laughed) Please like and Share!"? People would be livid! They would go on and on about my oppressive husband trying to control me, and "how dare he think he holds that kind of power, just because he has the sperm!" Double standards! Love 'em! Maybe that's part of why the divorce rates are so high in our country, everyone thinks marriage is all about them. Two people being self centered in a relationship is a recipe for disaster. It also completely goes against the concept of Biblical marriage, but I'm sure that's blindingly clear to those of you that care.

Also, adding to abortion culture much? The concept that a baby is an object to be decided upon just adds to the idea that a baby is an object to be decided against. So, if the baby comes and you aren't ready to give it to your husband are you just going to dispose of it? After all, it's nothing more than an object, right? This type of thing perpetuates the idea that babies aren't really human and aren't really worth preserving because they only suit our needs and wants. If they aren't coming in a time to suit us then we can just kill them, because they weren't what and when we wanted. 

In short, the message I get from this is selfishness. In so many ways. It makes me really upset to think about how many people think this way. They may not all hold up signs to prove it, but our culture in general feels this way. We feel that everything and everyone are meant to serve us and our purposes, and we feel that fertility is something we can and should control. God is the only one that can "give" you a baby. He is the only one that should be in charge of determining when they come. And marriage is a partnership. 

Roller Coaster Ride.

Sorry I haven't written in awhile, life has been beyond crazy...and to be perfectly honest, I likely won't be writing again anytime soon.

Tonight, though, I needed to write. I can't sleep, and I can't quit the stinging in my eyes. I'm sure you all have whiplash from my infertility journey by this point, I sure do. I mean one day I'm mad at the world and I hate everything, and I'm angry with God, but still love Him, that will never change, and the next I'm fine, happy, and embracing this journey. It's a roller coaster ride. The good days are really good, and the bad days....well, when they cause my friends to tag team and make sure I always have a listening ear available, and someone willing to drive thirty minutes to have their shoulder cried on, I'm sure you can guess what they're like.

I don't know from one day to the next what's going to happen, or how I'm going to feel. It's so hard and so confusing. But, I think that's just part of this journey. I know one day I'll understand every climb, drop, twist, and turn...but right now I'm just hanging onto the safety bar with all I have, and hoping the ride I'm on makes sense soon.

It's the little things that turn my good days to bad ones. The weird things, the things that wouldn't affect a normal person that have me on my knees crying out to God, or clinging to my Bible with all my might. A pregnancy announcement. Someone asking me about how many kids we want. A baby in the store. A pregnant woman walking down the street. The list is never ending.

Some days I feel like I can't enjoy my life as fully as I should, no matter how hard I try to "just not think about it" no matter how well I'm doing, there is always something around the corner waiting to jump up and remind me...maybe I'm journeying through a haunted maze and not on a roller coaster after all...either way, it's scary, and unpredictable, and sometimes I don't like it I almost never like it.

Three stupid, little things set me off today. First, I was rocking a little one to sleep and in her half asleep/half awake state I looked down at her and smiled, and she smiled back, a big, lazy grin. I cried. It was so sweet, and so perfect, the look on that little angel's face when she smiled at me pierced right through my heart. It made me happy, and sad, and so full of longing. It's indescribable, that feeling of want. You want that so badly, to have those moments with your own children, you pray so fervently that they will arrive soon. It hurts so bad, it feels almost like you're being teased with the tiniest littlest snapshot of what could be. But at the same time, it's so perfect, you don't want to let it go, you just want to cherish that moment forever and never let it fade.

The next two fit together and are much more petty and silly. Pictures. My sister changed her Cover photo to this:

Almost like the one that I had: 

Except now I don't have one at all because I deleted it in a moment of self pity. You're probably looking at this and wondering what the big deal is. They might not even look that different to you, but to me they point out what I'm missing.

In the top one is four generations. I took that picture, and several more of my sister and her baby, my grandma and my sister and my niece, my mom, my sister, and my niece(Amelia)...you get the picture. It was Mother's Day. I was taking pictures of the mothers, and their relations to each other, and of course, my beautiful niece. My step dad came up and grabbed my camera and told me to go sit down, and smile. 

I don't really belong in these pictures. I look out place, and tacked on at the end. I feel it, too. As petty as it may be, these pictures bother me because I'm missing something. I don't have a four generation picture. I didn't get that picture of my grandmother, my mother, and myself...because I don't have an Amelia. 

I don't get near as many phone calls from my mom. My mom doesn't visit me near as often as she does my sister. I don't get the extra time, and the extra bond with my mom and grandma that she does. Instead, infertility has pulled us apart. Now I'm just the awkward fat chick at the end, tacked on so she doesn't get her feelings hurt, and ruin another day with her tears that just won't quit. 

This may all seem petty and selfish, but these pictures remind me of the giant hole in my heart. And of the relationships I'm missing out on. 

The third thing is another picture. A picture I will never, ever have:

Five generations. My great grandma passed away in February, and the most recent photo I have with her is from my wedding. It's the last picture I'll ever get with her. She'll never get to hold my baby. She will never sit and pose like this with me and my child. I was there that day too, off in the background somewhere. Where I always am. I know it's selfish, but it hurts. It tears me up to know I will never ever have this opportunity, it hurts a little more because I'm the oldest, I was married at the age of twenty. I should have this picture, and I don't. I never will.

It's those little things. Those little reminders that something big is missing that can throw your whole week off track. No matter how hard I try to stay at the top of the hill, I always plummet right back to the bottom...just to start the long climb again. 

Embracing My Gift of Spiritual Motherhood.

There are many new terms and ideas that I've learned since becoming Catholic. Many times I'll see a word or a phrase used commonly in Catholic circles and be like; "What are they talking about?" As I Protestant I often talked to new Christians or people that weren't yet Christians and I would always find myself explaining words, phrases, or references that in my Christian circles were colloquial. I would often joke that when you accepted Christ, you also committed to learning a new language. As I've gone from Protestant to Catholic I've had to learn a whole new language. I knew more of it than I would have had I not been immersed in Christianity at all, but I've needed to learn a whole lot more! One of those is the idea of spiritual motherhood. I don't know that I had ever heard it previously, but now I seem to be hearing it constantly. Just about every time I've heard a Catholic speak on women or motherhood, I've heard this term included.

I recognized the concept as a beautiful thing, but kept thinking "I want more, I will not settle for that, I want to be an actual mom, not just a spiritual one." Lately I've heard more and more about this concept of spiritual motherhood, it's been everywhere! In a few of the e-mails I received on Mother's Day people would mention that I'm a mother to the children I have in my home for daycare, and to my nieces and nephew. The Friday before Mother's Day one of my daycare moms told me "happy Mother's Day" and when my face fell, reminded me that I am a mother to her child, and all of the children I care for. I've known these things, I know I love them as my own, and would do anything for them, and I know they love me, and value me, but I've always thought it wasn't enough.

I had a dream the other night where I was standing in front of a group of women talking about spiritual motherhood. I almost laughed when I reflected on it because that's not something I embraced, or wanted to settle for. And, being content in that would most certainly be settling. This morning as I got dressed I was thinking again about the concept of spiritual motherhood. If you've read much about my journey, then you know that sometimes God needs to beat me over the head with something before I'll listen!

On the way to church this morning I opened up my little purple book that my mom gave me some time ago called Promises for Life for Women, it's a nice little book with various topics that relate to women and some scripture to go along with that topic, and a small blurb of commentary. I opened it to a random page and almost groaned when I saw "Motherhood" was the topic I opened to, but then I saw the specific topic "Spiritual Motherhood" I had to read on, as this is a topic that I've been plagued by for a while. When I read the last paragraph I stopped, and I finally got it.

"Women do not have to carry, adopt, or raise children in order to qualify as spiritual moms. Instead we only need to display a willingness to use the gifts which God has entrusted us in order to nurture others and strengthen them in their faith." 

It clicked. As soon as I read that I had a flood of memories:
-A neighbor girl introducing me to a friend by saying; "That's Miss Amanda, she's like the town mom, if you do something bad, she'll tell you to not to, if you fall off your bike, she'll give you a bandaid, and if you need something, you just ask her."
-Taking a piece of dirt out a little one's mouth and my own husband saying; "Now, mom, it's just a little protein." ((and then covering his mouth when he realized his mistake))
-Counseling teenaged girls, and women older than myself.
-Comforting sick and hurting children.
-Worrying over the health, choices, and well being of so many.
-Loving unconditionally so many people.
-Welcoming children and their mothers into my home.
-Bandaging scrapes and cuts.
-Chasing away monsters, singing silly songs, and wiping away tears.
-Rocking little ones and reading The Word to them.

And so many other things. I am a mother, to many, many children. I may not have birthed them, and they may only call me "mommy" on accident, but spiritually, I am a mother.

How many times have I referred to my heart for children, and my instinct to mother as a curse? How many times have I questioned why God would give me these desires, and yet no children of my own? I'd been looking at it all wrong. I've been refusing to use my talents fully in the way He needs me to right now. I've been telling Him that this wondrous gift of spiritual motherhood wasn't enough. It is enough.

It's enough for those children that need it. It's enough for those teenagers that need me. It's enough for those women that seek my guidance. If it's what He asks of me, it's enough.

In his homily today Father said; "Don't bury your talents." That's exactly what I've been doing. I've been burying my talents, I've been denying the gifts I was given. My ability to love and nurture, my heart for children, my love for anyone that needs it, is not being wasted or used up.  My desire to mother has not gone unanswered. He has provided me with more children to mother and love and care for than I could have ever dreamed. I am a mother. Maybe not in a physical sense, but I do have a role to fill, I am not sitting around waiting on my life as a mother to begin, as I once thought. It's here. I am a mother, I am in the middle of my role, I just need to embrace my gifts, embrace what He has given me, and willingly answer His call to spiritual motherhood.

It's not settling, not at all. I can do great things for many children right here, right now. He has given me the heart full of love, and the ability to nurture. Now it's just up to me to use those gifts as fully as I can.

 I may be a physical mother one day, and I may never be. Either way, I am a mother. I am a loving, devoted mother, spiritually to many people. They need me now, and I am going to stop denying them the guidance and nourishment they need from me, I am going to stop burying my talents and hoping they'll grow, and I'm going to start using them, putting them to work, and by the grace of God, watch them flourish.

One little girl that needed some love from her aunt.

How I went from dreading Mother's Day to Loving it, and the Power of Prayer.

Remember how whiney I was right before Mother's Day? If not, here ya go. So, obviously I was really dreading Mother's Day, I had predetermined it to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. God's way more awesome than that, and the power of prayer is just mind blowing. I was expecting a big spectacle of the day to be made by the priest and everyone I encountered, my family to be all gushy and what not. I didn't even realize fully what actually happened until I got home, and checked my e-mail.

I'll start at the beginning, I woke up and was decidedly in a poor mood. It was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. I got dressed, whined around, and snapped at my husband once((that man has the patience of Job when it comes to me, I tell you,he deserves an award)) We made the two hour trek to Des Moines for church and then to have lunch with my family after. I slept most of the way up. I received a sweet text from my best friend letting me know she cared, it made me smile.

We got to the church almost late, and hurried in to sit next to my mom, niece, and step dad, in the process of everyone shifting around my poor niece took a tumble and conked her noggin on the kneeler, way to make a quiet entrance, Amanda! It was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

Father gave a wonderful homily on patience and timing...just what I needed! Maybe it would only be a no good, very bad day, afterall.

After Mass we went downstairs for some donuts and orange juice, I was still in a rotten mood, a mood I had made for myself out of nothing. Nothing but past experience. I sat at the table and read my book, and did not eat. My grandma called to tell us she hadn't even started on her way yet, she lives almost as far as us, so I weighed my options: the next Mass starting in fifteen minutes, or hanging out with happy moms ((mine, and my sister)) for two hours with no food or public place to distract me....Mass again.

Monsignor also gave a wonderful homily, though I'm embarrassed to admit that I know I enjoyed it, I can't recall much of it. I do know that every homily I have ever heard from that man has left me in tears, that one was no exception. At the end of both Masses they did a little Mother's Day spiel and I was so pleased at how well they handled it both times, they included every possible type of mother and talked about all women being included. It brightened my day a little more, perhaps it would just be a bad day.

When I got back to my mom's ((Tom had gone home with them, and left me our car, though I could have walked, they live right across the street)) I didn't have to wait long until everyone was assembled and ready to go. My mom, sister and I rode together, while the rest of our party rode in my step-dad's truck. The trip there wasn't so bad, bless them, they avoided the topic of motherhood quite well. I only had to cringe once when Anna suggested Hooters for dinner, because Moms ate free. I had to remind her that aside from the whole objectifying women thing, I would be the only female over two years of age in our group that would have to pay, no, not doing it. Yes, definitely a very bad day.


We got to the restaurant and had a twenty minute wait. It was beautiful outside, so we took some pictures, and Tom reminded me that I wasn't the only one having a bad day, he lost his mother in 2009 and it was the first Mother's Day for both my grandma and step-dad without their mothers (they both passed away this year) I felt like a jerk then for being all self-centered and mopey, I not only had my mother, but my grandmother who helped raise me. Aren't they beautiful?

Not only did I have both of them, but I had these lovely ladies, too.

Maybe it would be an okay day afterall. 

We ate, and we laughed, and, Anna (my sister) and I played tic tac toe on the back of our placemats, and passed Amelia (the cute, little one) around and everyone got a snuggle, and my empty uterus didn't even ache when I held her. Our food came, and we talked and laughed, and ate, and by George, I was having a good time! Yup, totally a decent day!

It was a day of love, and celebration, and holding each other up. 

We all parted ways after we were back at my mom's. The ride home was pleasant, Tom and I chatted easily now, all my bitterness from the morning gone.

When we got home I sat down at the computer and checked my e-mail. I then cried. I cried and I cried, and I knew immediately why I had had a great day. I had e-mail after e-mail, some so simple, and some much longer. Some simply read; "praying for you" or "love you" and some were longer and touched me so deeply. So many people. So much love. For me. I was just so overwhelmed by the outpouring of support. Many people that don't even talk to me often taking the time to say that I was in their thoughts and prayers, and that they cared.

I wasn't forgotten, or empty, or alone. I was deeply loved, and cared about, and people remembered my pain. And I had a great day because so many people cared enough to think about me and pray for me. Your prayers held me up and re-shaped my day. Words can't even express how grateful I am to you people. I'm crying now just thinking about it!

In spite of all of the dread, whining, and pessimism, God had a plan, and your prayers had a place. Thank you to all of you that thought of me, or any infertile friend, it makes all the difference. When someone crosses your mind, pray for them, you never know the difference it will make. 

All of the ladies.

Four generations.

Mother's Day is Hard...

I don't like Mother's Day. I love my mother, she's awesome. But, I don't need an entire day to remind me that I have no one to tuck in at night, no one to sing to sleep, no one to make me construction paper flowers and breakfast in bed. I'm reminded every single day of my huge empty house, my uterus never feels so empty as it does on Mother's Day. It's really not a good day to be infertile. It's sort of like all the single people on Valentine's Day that feel like the whole thing is a mockery of them and their singleness. It has nothing to do with them, but it magnifies their longing inadvertently.

It's probably very selfish. I have lots of great mothers in my life...but it's very painful. I'm not a pleasant person to be around this week, and especially won't be on Sunday. This is always one of those weeks that the devil gets at me pretty hardcore. I just want to be a mom. I want the toys strewn all over to be from my kids, the noses I wipe to be on my kids' faces, the boo-boos I bandage to be from my kid falling, the sticky handprints to be from my kid. I know it's horribly selfish, but I still don't feel like it's all that much to ask. I just want to be a mommy.

Mother's Day just brings it home. Especially with my sister having a baby too. Sunday I was going to take my mom out after Mass, it was going to just be me, her, my husband, and my step-dad. We were just going to go out, and I was just going to pretend it was just Sunday and there was nothing special about the day, and we were just going to eat, and then I was going to come home and it was just going to be Sunday, May 12th. Now it's not going to be that simple. Now it's going to be my grandma, and her daughter, and my mom, and her daughters, and my sister and her daughter, and me...

Me with my big, fat, empty, barren uterus. Me and my achingly empty arms. Just me, and my lack of ability to create life. Me and my bitter and brokenness.

Getting to listen to tales of childbirth and antics, and the love of being a mother...and just getting to listen, because I can't relate because I have nothing. Nothing but tears and aspirations, dreams and wishes. I just have to sit there and smile and hold back the tears, because I make every holiday about my pain, because they all hurt. I'll just have to make it through a few hours....

and then I can come home and curl up in a ball and miss the children I don't know. I just want it to hurt a little less. I just want to be a mom.

I'm sorry I'm being a whiner. I'm sorry I make holidays about me. I'm sorry I'm no fun to be around when I'm like this.

I just hurt. Mother's Day tends to magnify the hurt. I'll have to sit through church, and no doubt hear about how much mothers do, and how awesome motherhood is (those things are true, and need to be said-they just hurt) At least I can hide the tears behind my veil...do you think I'd get away with veiling at dinner?

My prayer on Mother's Day is that all of the mother's without children are comforted, that people acknowledge their hurt. That all mothers that have lost a child too soon find peace and comfort. That all mothers appreciate their motherhood a little deeper. That all women that have longed for a child and now have one won't forget what that longing felt like. That we would all remember that their are women that can't conceive, and  women that have lost children, and women that long for their children to remember them. I pray that all of these women find hope, peace and comfort. I pray that one woman longing for a child conceived a healthy child this week, that she is able to carry to term, and raise to adulthood. I pray that one child estranged from their mother repairs that relationship on Mother's Day. I pray that I can remeber to reach out to someone like me when I do have children, and that I never forget how much I longed for my children.

Source

Dear Baby, we're waiting.

I've shared with you before that I sometimes journal to my future children, when I shared this Christmas letter to my one day baby. I had some time off this morning and was moving some of our baby stuff upstairs, and thinking about who our baby would be, and when we'd meet them, where they would come from, how old they would be, etc. And I wrote this, and decided to share it with you fine people. We have had a few almost adoptions, and some moments where we thought we had a baby growing, but didn't. In each of those times we've jumped the gun and bought baby stuff, just to be left with the pain of an empty uterus, empty arms, and dressers full of baby stuff. The things I picture here are from those moments when we thought we were finally going to be parents. It's all just waiting on our baby to arrive!

My Dearest Child,
Today I was sitting amongst all the things we have for you, and praying for you, and thinking about how very much we love you, and how ready we are to meet you. We've thought you were on your way several times, but it was just false excitement. Those babies all ended up being other people's little miracles, and not ours. I get the feeling you're going to be a little trickster! So many times we thought you were coming to us in one form or another, and it ended up not being you! Each time we got ready for you, we tried not to, we tried to tell ourselves that it may not be you, but every time we got so excited to meet you! We went out and bought things for you each time! You're an enigma to us, dear baby, and a little secret about Mommy and Daddy is that we aren't very good at mysteries and puzzles, and we don't really like not knowing what's going to happen next, truth be told we're both a little impatient. We can't help it, our hearts are just so full of love for you. 

We just want to meet you, and tell you how much we love you. We want to snuggle you, sing to you, nourish you physically and spiritually, we want to watch you grow, kiss your boo boos, teach you about God, love, family, the stars and moon, about friendship and compassion, and maybe even about math, science, history, and reading. We want to share our lives with you. We want to rejoice in your accomplishments, and comfort you in your bad times. We want to rock you to sleep, and chase away your nightmares. We want to see who you become, and love you every step of the way. 

We often wonder about you, what will you look like? Will you come from Mommy's tummy? Will you come from another local mommy's tummy? Will you come from a mommy's tummy in another country? Will we get to feel you grow in my tummy, watch you grow in someone else's, or will we not see you until you make your way into the world? Will we meet you the day you're born, or will you be six weeks, or six years old before we finally get to see you? Will you have Daddy's red hair, Mommy's blue eyes, or be a beautiful diamond shining brightly and differently than the rest of us? Will you like sports like Daddy, books like Mommy, or introduce us to something new? Will you be an early bird or a night owl? Will you be outspoken like Mommy or reserved like Daddy? What will you be when you grow up? 

Whoever you are, whatever you look like, whatever way you come to us, whatever your interests, we love you. We're waiting in great anticipation, and we're ready for you. 

We're ready to change your cloth covered bum:


We're ready to hold you tight, and wear you in a ring sling, mei tai, or wrap:



We're ready to feed you messy foods:



We're ready to tuck you in at night:



We're ready if you're a boy:



Or a girl:


We're ready to take you to church:


We're ready to bundle you up:

Or just let you wear a t-shirt and jeans:




No matter when, or how you come to us, we're ready. We're not ready because of all this stuff we have for you, we're not ready because of all the things we've read. We're ready because of you. All of the love we've grown in our hearts for you over the last several years, all the lessons you've taught us in patience, all the prayers we've said for you. Sweet little one, you have already taught us so much about ourselves, each other, and God. You've strengthened us in ways we didn't know we were weak. You have prepared us for you. And continue to every day. We love you more than words can say, and I know in all this waiting you're showing us to appreciate and cherish life, and most of all YOU, our darling child. 

In great anticipation of you,
Love,
Mommy. 

Our children have taught us so much about life, love, and God, and they aren't even here yet! We're just continuing to pray, and wait, and grow, and love them more and more all the time! As always, please pray for me, and if you are struggling to conceive as well, know that I pray for you daily. I always lift up all of those trying to conceive and pray that one couple receives their blessing, and that one orphan receives their family! I have faith that one day God will unite us with our child(ren) but until then, we pray.


Linking up at Matrimonial Mondays (I know it's not all that "matrimonial" but children ARE part of a Christ-centered marriage, and I know I'm not the only one longing for children, so I thought it appropriate) 

Having a bad day.

If you are expecting my typical fa-la-la, the world is grand, Jesus loves me, I'm fine type of post. Click another link, you aren't getting that tonight, sister. Tonight you are getting real, raw, emotion. You are getting my pain, and my tears, and my whining. Because tonight, that's all I have to give, and I have too much of it, and I have to put it somewhere. Before we start: Yes, I still love the Lord with all my heart, and strength, I still KNOW He has big plans for me, I am still His child. I do so well, for so long. I truly feel at peace, I am doing awesome, and then the devil tosses an open manhole out right as I put my foot down, he does it so quickly that I don't even notice until I'm clawing my way back up. Every time he shoves the cover aside so I fall into rotting sewage I manage to claw my way back to God, and every time I'm stronger than before I fell in. But, at what point will my strength run out? At what point will I be so strong, and so aware that I miss them all? Can I make it to that point?

Sometimes I honestly have no clue. I don't feel like I'm asking too much, I just want a child. I'll be fine with one. Millions are aborted, beaten, starved, and otherwise abused and unwanted EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. All I want is one of them. I don't care if it comes from my body, or someone down the street, or someone on the other side of the planet. I just want to be a mom. I just want to love them, and raise them to know Christ. I just don't get why that's too much to ask. I don't care about gender, or race, or special needs. I just want to raise a family. It doesn't make sense. I don't understand why millions of children suffer daily, yet I have a warm home, and food, and clothes, and all the love in the world to offer, and here I sit, empty uterus, and empty arms.

So often I wonder if I'm being punished, if I've done something to deserve this. I know that's not the case, but sometimes I can't think of any other reason. It seems like everyone around me is pregnant, and it often seems the worse their situation, the more kids they have. I just don't get it. Sometimes when people announce their pregnancies, it feels like it's a direct slap aimed at me. Obviously, no one is getting pregnant just to spite me. Sometimes, it feels that way. I know FOUR, FOUR girls off the top of my head that have (or are pregnant) three children, all of these girls are 18-21, only one of them has a job, none of them are married, and all of them openly talk about how the government is basically their baby daddy. I am not trying to be harsh or judgmental  I love these girls, but sometimes I have to wonder why it's okay that they get three kids they can't take care of, and I get none.

Anyone that knows me says I have a "heart for children" it's true, I love kids. Sometimes that heart for children makes this all so much worse. It feels like cruel and unusual punishment. It's like, why would God give me a heart for children, and not give me children to love? It's almost like a punishment sometimes. I just can't understand why He would give me such a desire to be a mother, and not allow me to be one. And again, why He would allow so many women that don't want to be mothers to be mothers, and why He allows so many precious children to die. I know I'm not supposed to get it, but sometimes it really ticks me off.

What you might not realize is that a lot of times it feels like society is punishing us. Of course it isn't intentional, and you'd only notice it if you were living this. When all of your friends have kids and you don't...well, say goodbye to them. I get it, it's awkward hanging out with the child-less couple, your life revolves around your kids, you don't know what to say to the infertile people, so you either risk it and end up sounding like a jerk, or ignoring it, which also makes you look like a jerk after awhile, or you just hang out with them less. I get it, it's weird. I wouldn't want to balance that either. Then, none of your single friends want to hang out with you because you're married, and have nothing in common with them. So, then you're down to almost nothing, but God, each other and one good friend. THEN, you have that awesome conversation every time you see someone you haven't seen in a while, where they find it necessary to ask if you have had any luck, or even more fun, they ask WHEN you plan on having kids...well, I PLANNED on having kids about three years ago, but apparently life doesn't work that way. I hate family reunions for that reason, tat's all I get asked the entire time, and then you say "oh, we're having some trouble trying" and then it's awkward, and then nobody talks to you for the rest of the time. Seriously, I promise when the time finally comes to buy a shirt with flashing lights that says "finally pregnant" and then you won't have to even ask. THEN, if you do end up adopting, well their is no "just" adopt for starters (if you have ever told anyone to "just adopt" JUST  be glad they didn't slap you.) They put your life under a microscope, go through your home, your personal space, ask you every question under the sun, make you pay out the wazoo and wait forever (or, if you go with foster care, all that plus the chance that the child you fell in love with will get yanked from your home and put back in the home they were pulled from to begin with) THEN, you still have the chance that the mother could change her mind...oh, not to mention the myriad of stupid questions people will then feel like they are entitled to ask, because all of the infertility ones weren't enough.

When you got pregnant did someone inspect your home, check your background, ask a million questions, make you take classes, and then make you pay thousands of dollars to continue? Didn't think so. It makes you feel like you not only do you have to deal with infertility, but also with being punished because you can't just go have a baby like half of America's teenagers. To a point, I get the hoops, but it's a little much. When babies are dying daily, it's a little lot much. I don't why I can't just have a background check done, prove that I have money and running water, get on a plane, head to Africa, pick up a child that otherwise would have died from dehydration in a month, hop back on the plane, and come home, and just raise my child.

I just want to be a mommy, why is that so much to ask?

A Christmas letter to my one day baby.

Source

Sometimes I journal to my future child(ren). I know that may seem weird to some people because they don't actually exist, and may never exist, but it helps me cope. It makes the dream of having children seem more tangible  when I feel I have no hope left, it helps to feel like they will one day read the words I am writing to them. I want to be able to show them one day, I want them to see how much they were loved before they were even created. I want them to know how many tears, prayers, and love went into making them. I want them to know that no matter how they came to us, we loved them even before hand, we've prayed for them every day since our wedding. I want them to know how deeply they are and always will be loved. I also want to remind myself how much I loved those babies even before they were born, how much I longed for midnight feedings, teething toddlers, and mouthy tweenagers. When I've been up for twenty four hours straight with a colicky newborn, have been bitten for the twentieth time in a day, or have a thirteen year old that thinks I'm "the meanest mom, EVER" I want to have these to remind me of this time, I want to be reminded of how I longed for all of the bad, right along with the good. I may lose sight of this longing I have for my children once they arrive. I never for one second want to lose the wonder and awe that is being a mom, even in those horrible moments. So, I want these letters to serve as a reminder, for me, when I need it, and for a declaration of love for my children.

I never thought I would share any of them publicly, but I was looking back today and found this one that I wrote last Christmas, and thought I would share it with you. Christmas is by far the hardest time of the year to be childless (next is Mother's Day) I am feeling much better this year than I was then, but I'm not going to lie, it's not all sunshine and rainbows. I do still feel at peace, but that doesn't mean I don't still get a twinge of jealousy once in a while, or a little bummed this time of year. Anyway, I thought I would share this in hopes that someone else may be feeling the same, or that you may know someone who's struggling, and it may help to remind you to be gentle with them. Also, this is from LAST YEAR, so this is our fourth Christmas, not third =)

My Dearest Child,

 It's December, my favorite, and least favorite time of the year. I love Christmas because it's the celebration of the birth of our Lord and Savior...but, I also struggle with it because we don't have you in our lives yet. This will be our third Christmas praying for you, and wishing you were here. It's hard to celebrate the birth of a child, when you are struggling to have your own. I so desperately want you here to celebrate with us. I can't wait to see the wonder and amazement in your eyes, the joy on Christmas morning, to have our tree decorated with construction paper ornaments made by you, to watch Daddy hold you up to put the angel on the top of the tree, to read to you the account of Jesus's birth, to tell you all about why Christmas is so wonderful, and important. I can't wait to share everything with you! 

Sometimes it's so hard to watch other people get ready and talk about how much their children enjoyed Christmas, and we don't have that. We don't have you yet. It's so hard to go shopping for other people's kids, when I just wish I had you to buy things for. This year has been a little harder than the last two because Aunt Anna is pregnant, and as exciting as it is to look at things for your cousin, I desperately wish I were picking them out for you. I just love you so much. I think the thing that makes Christmas so hard is seeing everyone else celebrating with their children, and so happy and full of joy, and wrapped up in their kids, and celebrating life. Daddy and I love each other so much, and love celebrating together, and with family, but we feel like you're missing from the picture. We can't wait to meet you, and share everything with you. 

I know that one day we'll all be celebrating together. I know one day we'll get to see the excitement on your face on Christmas morning, one day our tree will be filled with your creations, one day you'll put the angel on top of the tree, one day you'll share in the celebration of the miracle of Jesus's birth, one day I will get to buy you presents. One day God will finally let us know that we're ready to meet you. Until that day comes I'll keep praying for you, loving you, hoping for you, and waiting for you. I hope to be the best mommy I can be for you. I hope to make all your Christmases memorable, I want you to know how much you were wanted, and thought about, and even a little extra so this time of year. Who knows, maybe next Christmas I'll be reading you this letter? 

 Love,

Mommy

Unfortunately, I won't be reading this letter to my babes this year, but maybe next? I don't know. I do know that for whatever reason, this time of year is a little harder, it stings a little more. Please pray for me, and I'll be praying for all of those mothers without children going through the same thing. I hope this gave you a little insight into what it's like to be without a child this time of year.


(I edited out a few of the more personal bits)

   

Peace.

Lately I am finding myself in a perpetual state of peace. It's quite a new experience for me, normally I feel like a war is happening inside my body, with my emotions, but over the last several months I have just had so much peace, I don't think I could feel frazzled if I wanted to! It started with peace about my fertility, that scared me at first, because I was worried I wouldn't care anymore, that I was giving up, or that I didn't want it anymore. Then I realized that wasn't the case at all, I just didn't want it more than ANYTHING else. I had placed my struggle and my desire to have a child above everything else in my life, I was putting my nonexistent child above myself, my husband, and yes, God. That's the hardest for me to admit, I want to believe that my walk with Him has never faltered, that I have never stumbled, and that I have had nothing but faith and trust in Him through all of this, but that would be a lie.

You know how they say that hindsight is 20/20? This couldn't be more accurate for me, I thought throughout all this that I was staying close to God, that I was giving it to Him, that I was trusting in Him, His plans, His timing, but I wasn't really. I was giving Him a sliver and holding on to the rest. The truth is, I was terrified to hand it completely over to Him. I was scared that if I just handed it to Him and put it out of my mind that would be me waving my white flag, and that that would be me saying I couldn't do it on my own. Well, DUH I can't do it on my own! I NEED God, I need Him to help me, I need His guidance, and love and support, and I  need the peace that only He can give. I was seeking this in myself, but peace doesn't come from within, it's one of those amazing things that can only truly come from God.

What I used to think was me quitting and losing myself was actually God taking my struggles from me. I mean, they were rightly His, I only offered them up to Him daily, but then never actually gave Him what I said He could have. The more He took, the more He gave. The less my world revolved around infertility and the more it revolved around Him, the happier I became, the more joyful I became, and suddenly I was just a well of peace. I didn't quite recognize what was happening inside me at first, at first I just noticed that I wasn't crying myself to sleep anymore, I wasn't having to hold back tears every time my husband interacted with a child, I didn't have to catch my breath and say a silent pray every time one of the daycare kids accidentally called me "mommy", I didn't cry and yell and scream every time someone said "I'm pregnant!", I wasn't wallowing in self pity every time someone asked "so, when are you having kids?"

Finally, FINALLY I was able to just pray, and then go to sleep, I was able to just smile, and enjoy the blessing that is my husband,and his heart for children, I could just giggle, and answer their call, I could honestly and truthfully say, "I am so happy for you, congratulations!", I could just smile and say, "When the good Lord is ready!"

I still want children, I still get mad when I see people treating their children badly, or walking into an abortion clinic, of course I do, I don't think that will ever change, no matter how many kids I have. It's just, my world has stop revolving around my desire for children. I have finally, once and for all handed it to God, I'm not holding it anymore. It's really, truly in His hands, and I can't think of a better place for it to be. I don't even know that I can fully articulate these feelings to you, it's just that I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt that whatever God has planned for me is a trillion times better than anything I could ever desire for myself. I have a sense of overwhelming peace, it's like I have peace flowing through me, and it's exploding into other parts of my life.

I just realized this today, when I was talking to a friend about the peace I feel in relationship to my spiritual life, and I realized that it didn't start in the place I originally thought it did. I realized that the peace started in regards to my infertility and the proverbial dam has broken, and the more God has revealed to me in other areas of my life, the faster the river of peace is flowing.

I'm currently on another "faith journey" specifically involving my walk with Christ, and God has been revealing His truths to me left, right, and center. Every time a new truth is revealed my sense of peace deepens and gets stronger and more and more overwhelming. It's seriously mind boggling, that I, queen of the dramatics and anxiousness can feel so at peace with everything. But, I don't know why I'm surprised, I am talking about the creator of all things, the one who put everything into motion, and created me. Of course He can give me peace. I am so grateful for that. I am so happy, and content in ways I never thought I could be.

He is slowly revealing His plans for my life, and the more He reveals, the closer to Him I get, and the more peace He gives. Right now I don't know if I will ever be a mom, and for the first time ever, I can honestly say that if it is His will, then it is His will. God knows my life far, far better than I do...who am I to question Him?

What to say to a struggling friend.

Original source of photo not found,
let me know if you know, so I can credit them!

I just got off of the phone with my adorable, lovable little sister, we were discussing trying to make babies and how hard it is for some people, and how she didn't realize how many people struggled with it until I started going through it. She was telling me how much she wants to help and comfort me, and everyone else that she talks to about it, but that she doesn't know what to say, because she's never experienced it (she has a beautiful, six week old daughter named Amelia...and no, she wasn't trying) I had to laugh, because the truth is, I don't know what to say, heck I don't even know what I need to hear. I know what I hate hearing, and I know what makes me feel a little comforted, but even when other women come and talk to me about it, I have no clue what to say to them, even though I'm going through the exact same thing, generally we tell each other "I'm here if you need me." and then we are when they do, and "I completely understand what you mean, I feel the same exact way." and it is a huge comfort to know that someone else knows what it feels like to get angry, sad, jealous, and happy all at one "I'm pregnant" announcement from someone who "accidentally" got pregnant. It's a great comfort to know that someone who knows what you are feeling will be there and listen to you, and will do so with nothing but love and understanding. There are several things that I hear ALL.THE. TIME. and usually from people who mean well, but don't quite understand, and I am always glad that they at least wanted to say SOMETHING, but the things they say are sometimes unintentionally hurtful, here are a few of those things, and why they are hard to hear:

• "It'll happen."- This is what I hear the most, and I know that it's because they have no idea what else to say, and they sincerely and honestly want that to be true. It hurts because most days it doesn't feel true, and you can't honestly KNOW that for sure, and then every month and every year that it doesn't happen it hurts worse. This is a tough one, because every time I hear it I think "...and what if it doesn't"
• "In God's time."- This is more of an "I know this, but don't want to hear it" type of thing, this is hard to hear because I KNOW this to be true, but it's not that easy to put in perspective, it's like I know that my life is on God's schedule, and not mine, but darn it, His timing takes way too long!
• "God has His reasons"- This one also covers "Everything happens for a reason." When I hear those things I automatically think of the millions of precious little lives lost all over the world every single day, and what the reason for THAT could possibly be, and then I think about all the people who have kids that don't want or appreciate them, all the people who look at their children as burdens and accidents, and wonder what the reason for them getting to have children and for me not to could possibly be. Again, I KNOW that God has His reasons, and frankly it makes me mad that I can't know what they are, but that would defeat the purpose.
• "Trying is the fun part."- Obviously you have never tried to get pregnant.
• "Kids are so much work, seriously it's best to just spoil them and send them home."- Let me punch you and then take yours. I am not completely clueless about the "work" that children require, I also know how much joy they bring, and I know what it feels like to have children in my home day and night for weeks and then have to send them home, nope, it just sucks worse.
• "You can have mine, you'll be begging to give them back in an hour, trust me."- Say this to me one more time, and I will show up at your door with adoption papers. Seriously, you aren't funny, and that really hurts, I know you are kidding, and that hurts worse, because you have no idea how badly I wish someone would just show up at my house with a baby and adoption papers. 
• "Just adopt." - Obviously you have no idea what goes into an adoption, because "just" adopt is not a possibility. I wish I could JUST go and adopt, I'd have three kids by now, unfortunately, it just doesn't work that way. 
• "Just quit trying and it'll happen."- Yes, because that's possible. I haven't found a way to do so yet, when you do let me know...well a way other than never having sex with my husband, that would work...but then it wouldn't happen, so that wouldn't work either.

Wow, I didn't realize how cynical I'd get by the end, sorry about that. I don't say this to be mean, it's just how I feel. I KNOW that most people mean well when they say these things, they just hurt.

So then, what should you say? That you love them, that you're praying for them, that you hurt for them, that you don't understand, that if they need to cry and scream and yell, and complain that you'll be there listening without judgement, with an open mind, and a loving heart. Let them know that if they need a hug, a good cry, or someone to hang out with just to take their mind off of things that they have you, and then DO IT! 

Just be a good friend, because the truth is nothing you, I, or anybody can say will make the pain go away, it won't make it better, it won't give them a baby (unless of course you are saying "ummm, I'm pregnant, and I'd like to do a private adoption..." in which case my phone number is.....) Just be present and caring, and don't judge them when they talk about feelings of anger and jealousy, because they are probably feeling bad enough about feeling that way already. 

Just love them!

Family Comments

I realized just how hurt I've been by comments about infertility made by my family, I try not to give it much thought, but they hurt, bad. You know me, I find it best to express what is going on in my heart rather than to keep it all bottled up. I've talked about the unintentionally hurtful things people say, but what if those people are FAMILY? What if they are the people you love more than anything? It cuts deeper, it stings worse, and it's harder to let go of.


My family has hurt me plenty, generally it's unintentional, occasionally it is intentional. Either way, it hurts 100 times worse than when a stranger/acquaintance says the same thing. Mostly with family it's not understanding, or thinking they do. Mine tends to tell me that I'm young, and have all the time in the world, or they point out that ONE family member that couldn't have kids and tell me how happy she is. Of course, she's never talked to me about her struggle, except to tell me once that I should be more grateful for what I have, instead of being upset about what I don't have...which made me feel like a crap person, so that was helpful.

Anyway, majority of the women in my family have had children before marriage, and been married a few times, and not that I love them any less, not at all, I adore my family, all of them, but this fact makes it harder to deal with them, I just want to scream "YOU DON'T KNOW, YOU GOT PREGNANT ON ACCIDENT, BY TWO DIFFERENT MEN! YOU CAN NOT KNOW WHAT I AM FEELING!!!" But that would be unfair to say to them, because they didn't choose their circumstances any more than I chose mine. With family it's hard because you know that they love you, and that they generally want the best for you, but if they haven't lived it, they can't relate. Oh, they try, and they usually mean well, but it generally doesn't ease the pain, and most of the time it makes it worse.

My mother for example, I love her to pieces, bless her heart, she is the sweetest, most giving woman you will ever meet. It doesn't matter that she just met you two seconds ago, if you need that shirt she's wearing, she'll strip it right off and get arrested for indecent exposure with out question, and she'll do it happily. She kind of gets it, a little bit. Her and my dad tried very hard for me, and she didn't think she'd get pregnant, and then she did, and that's how I came about, but for the large part she still doesn't KNOW what I'm going through, or at least she isn't that empathetic. I know she loves me, I know she hurts for me, but some things she says are hurtful. She always tells me that I need to have a boy, because she has girls, and a granddaughter from my little sister, and has always wanted a boy. I know she doesn't say it to hurt me, but I just want a baby, and I don't care what gender it is, and it makes me feel like if I had a girl she wouldn't lover her as much, though I know that isn't true, it feels that way. She also buys me baby clothes, this started when we were under the impression we would be adopting a friend's baby, and when that adoption fell through she continued to buy them, now this is partially my fault because I gladly accept them, and tell her it's fine, and it is...until I see the dressers full of baby clothes and remember I don't have a baby. I love my mom, and I know she never intends her words or actions to be hurtful, and she doesn't even realize it hurts, but it does. This woman has cried for me probably more times than I know, and has told me several times "if I hadn't had a hysterectomy, I would have already had a baby for you, I wish I could so badly." See, not only would this woman get arrested for a complete stranger, she would give her uterus to her hurting daughter. I know that nothing she says or does is done so with negative intent.

My great grandmother told me once that I was in a worse position to have a baby than a single, unwed mother without a house or a job. That one cut deep. Still, I don't think it was said with malicious intent, obviously not as sweet and well meaning as my mother, but I still don't think she meant it to hurt. She also always tells me that I'm young, and I hate to hear this, because I'm already older than half of the women in my family were when they had children, and it makes me feel like just because I've only been on the planet for so many years I am automatically less qualified than anyone else to have a baby.

 Then there is the one family member who does say things to purposefully jab a knife right through my heart and twist. I post some things on Facebook about what I'm going through, and for quite some time she would comment on these and ONLY these types of statuses(and I am a 2+ status a day poster), and always say the same exact thing "you are young" every single time, and that's it, nothing encouraging, just those three words, well she caught me on a super bad baby day and I let her know exactly how THAT made me feel, anyway, a huge argument followed and then a few weeks later we found ourselves arguing again, after I had written her a very lengthy e-mail about why I got so upset, she told me that she only said anything because she got tired of my pity parties, and "feel sorry for Amanda" posts, and basically said that she would understand if I had been at it for 15+ years, but that I couldn't feel pain over it because it was still less than five years!!!! The first six months of trying and not getting pregnant are HELL, because it should just happen, it happens for everyone else, it should be easy, etc. etc. I'm not saying it gets easier after that, but you're less....raw? I guess that's the word I want. That really super duper hurt because she is a member of my family, she is supposed to lift me up, not bring me down. I don't post things on here, or Facebook for attention, or for people to feel sorry me, I feel sorry enough for myself as is, no help needed there! I post on here to help cope with my feelings, and get them out  there, but mostly to encourage and give comfort to other people who know what I'm going through.

When I post about it on Facebook, it's generally to let my friends and family know that I need some extra prayers, that I'm having a rough day, and that, yes sometimes I need someone to talk to. It's okay to hurt and express feelings, even about topics like this, and no one should ever guilt you into feeling bad about your emotions. My whole point here is that for the most part your family means well, they most likely don't understand, and that is not their fault. You cannot blame them for not having gone through this too....I mean, would you want them to? I know I wouldn't, I wouldn't wish this pain on anyone. As badly as it hurts when the people you love say these things, know that they do love you and they aren't aiming to hurt you. Except for the ones that are, and for those, I delete from my digital life, and pray for them. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. No words will make it better, no one knows what to say, not even those of us dealing with it every single day.