infertility

Timid Salute

To all the would-be Mothers, wish you could Mothers, wish God would Mothers. To all the brave faced ladies, tear-streaked face ladies, and smile with grace ladies. To all the someday women, have faith women, in another time or place women. To the almost was, the lost before but still loved, taken to soon and to young. To all the body betrayed, heart dismayed, try another day and another way women. To the thanks for the advice, remember they are trying to be nice, but it cuts you like a knife ladies.  To those who shine it on, pretend nothing is wrong, but cry when you are gone souls. To those who support them, hold them, cry with them, and feel their loss with them. You are not alone, not abandoned, not broken. To the scores of women who survive another day, who face the world come what may, and continue to learn lessons along the way. So today my dear ones, this is my timid salute, to the childless Mothers and all you go through, because you are worthy, lovely and strong, and you know better than anyone that life does go on.

Nightmares

As I look in the mirror I think, just one more minute. In one minute I will open the door and he will be standing there waiting for a response. I turn on the taps, to buy myself 30 more seconds. It’s futile, he taps on the door. With a sigh, I turn off the water, touch my fingers to my lips and breathe deeply. Time to give him the bad news, the news he has heard before, but its repetition doesn’t make the cut any less deep.

 

I open the door, shake my head no, and try to push past him.
“Wait.” He says, making a grab for my wrist.

I shake him off and turn into our bedroom, where the over head light is to harsh against the darkness before the dawn.

“What?” I whisper more then speak. I know he will want to comfort me, and I want him to. But what I want more is to not cry, I am so sick of crying. I turn from him to look into the closet, trying to perform the next task, the next thing on my list.

He steps up behind me and wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me flush against him. I know he is sad, but his strength is too much, to wonderfully awful and my resolve breaks. I turn into his arms, and he whispers “we won’t stop trying” I shake my head into his chest, and even as I make the back and forth motion of no, I know we will try again, because there is nothing more addictive then trying to fulfill your dream and knowing you are living your worst nightmare.

Setting down the dream

Today is a sad day for me. For the last 5 or so years of my marriage my husband and I have been trying to have children. We’ve done all the tests, tried several treatments to no avail. Now I am on this journey of fixing my mental health and I have been put on a medication that is not safe to take while trying to conceive. So choices had to be made, continue on the baby path or try to get well and possibly be a better mother and partner. I think most people would think this is an easy choice. That taking care of you is by far the better decision, to put yourself first and get clear and steady. But for me and Jacob this is hard, we’ve worked so long. We’ve had heart break and tough roads, we’ve climbed them together, faced it all together.

So I have to put my baby wishes to bed. I am going to grieve a little bit, because I always thought I would be done having children by now and it could be years before this dream is picked up again. I know that I will be a better mom when this is done. I hope to be a better wife and friend, daughter and aunt. For the first time in a long time my focus will be on me and mending the bridges my mental illness has burned.

Wish me luck