I follow quite a few blogs on here. Honest moment: I, sadly, don’t always get the chance to read every single blog that comes across my feed. Even more honest moment: I sometimes skip past some intentionally. *gasp* I know, I know. That’s terrible of me. Let me explain. This journey is HARD. I’ve not been on it as long as most of the blogs that I follow or even as long as some of the friends I know personally. But pregnancy announcements turn me into this bitter, judgmental person that I would just rather not deal with. So, sometimes, SOMETIMES I skip past those. But then… I sit and wonder “what does it feel like?” “how did they know?” “what are their dr’s saying?” And I go back and read them.
In the last couple weeks, however, I’ve realized another reason why I skip past them. It’s another four letter word. FEAR. Fear that I will never get to experience ‘those’ feelings. Fear that I will never be able to give my husband a piece of him and I. Fear that I’ll never again see that second pink line, or that I’ll never see an ultrasound with a tiny, little life playing the starring role. And then, as I log in to read those happy announcements, it becomes something different. Sad retractions of pain and heartache. Another angel given their wings too soon. Fear turns inward once again. Fear that I may never again be able to carry a child. Fear that I’ll hear those words from my OB again. Fear that I’ll have to tell my husband and those close to me of a loss. Fear that I’ll never get to tell our child about how much our Heavenly Father loves them. And my heart breaks.
As selfish and ‘me, me, me’ as it all sounds, my heart also breaks for each of those beautiful, deserving women. Women that go without in order to touch their dreams, even if only for a moment. Women that sacrifice small pleasures for a chance at eternal happiness. Women that battle heartache and pain, and then dust themselves off to do it all over again. And I only hope that one day I will be worthy of being in that category.
Conversations in this house are funny. Usually, it’s one of us trying to find a new, fun way to irritate the other. Some days, there’s not much talking. Some days there’s TOO much talking. Some days there’s crying. And other days I cry. Just kidding, I never cry. Ok, maybe once or twice. Some days we yell, and other days we get to the heart of an issue and are able to talk about it lovingly and with great understanding. Today was one of those days. I’ve packed on some serious pounds in the last year or so with all the hormones. I’ve said it before, I HATE what I see when I look in the mirror. For some odd reason, my husband still thinks I’m beautiful. And not just a shut-up-I-think-you-look-fine kinda beautiful as I complain about the fact that yoga pants are my wardrobe anymore. But an I-just-want-to-touch-you-when-I’m-near-you kinda beautiful. I contribute it to the fact that we paid money for glasses that he never wears. But there is something to be said for a man who loves a woman that much. And for a woman that doesn’t appreciate it. Glad I’m not her!
Fear has really become a big part of my life lately. I pretty much hate it. But I always live through it. I’ve been terrified of this month. Heck, we are only 6 days into it, so I’m still a little scared. I’m afraid of what will happen. I’m afraid of what won’t happen. Sometimes, I don’t trust God enough. I just give him the crumbs after I’m done chewing my problems for a while. And then, even through the hardest, darkest, most broken moments, He reminds me that He is there. And He is capable. New Years Day I was pretty sick. Pneumonia hit me pretty hard. I’d spent most of the day and the day before in bed sleeping. I decided that I’d had enough and that we were going to J’s parent’s house for dinner to spend the last little bit of time with family that was in from out-of-town. And as we left, the sky was just AH-MAY-ZING!! I’m talking gorgeous, breath-taking, color changing amazing!! Here I am, afraid of January and God is reminding me that He’s still in charge. He showed me in a BIG way!
So many people talk about one word that they make their ‘word’ for the new year. I won’t choose just one word, because there really is no one word that can define the mess that is me. However, there is one word that every woman on the TTC journey can closely identify with. It’s another four letter word. HOPE. I’ll take that over fear any day of the week.