Not being able to get pregnant is incredibly lonely. It's lonely to feel like the only one who isn't having a baby when it seems like everyone else doesn't have to struggle (even though I know that's not true). It's lonely because it's hard to talk about. Everyone I did talk to during those months had kind, sympathetic advice for me, and though it did help in one way, not being able to get pregnant was more than just not having a baby. It was this fear that my body was broken, that I was somehow fundamentally failing as a woman, that I was letting people down (myself included). I sometimes worried that Tim was secretly resenting me or was disappointed in me (he wasn't). I felt "less than". I had to remind myself that my creative powers aren't limited to creating life and that I still had potential and worth.
Those were cyclic months, so there were times when I was fine and trusted and had faith that everything would work out how and when it was supposed to. There were other times that I worried I wasn't doing enough and I obsessively counted days and tracked the months. Christmas was especially hard because I had expected to feel a special kinship with Mary last December as I carried my own firstborn - but I didn't. Tim played Joseph in our ward's nativity but I was not Mary and that felt far more symbolic than it should have.
When that long sought-after plus sign finally appeared, I was almost unprepared for both the joy and the anxiety that came with it. As I adjusted to my new, sought-after reality, I was surprised by some of my reactions to other people's reactions. Once we started telling people in general, it was a little upsetting to me how casually my pregnancy was regarded. It was so precious to me, such a special gift, that hearing it discussed like any other topic or, even worse, joked about (as a side note, please do not call my child "spawn" - I'll bite your head off) made me defensive and upset. I think part of this was because of how long we had waited for it, but maybe all new mothers feel that way at some point. (I sure hope so, at least.) When it's not you, it seems like everyone is having babies and while it's exciting, it's not new. But to us, the first-time expectant parents? Every day is anticipated, every other thought is about the growing baby and the changes she will bring. Every moment, even the sick ones, are laced with gratitude.
My struggles were small, I know this, but I am grateful for how they've changed my perspective. What was once a sacrifice became a privilege; what was once a burden became a blessing. What seems easy and casual on Facebook ("I'm pregnant! Yay!") might hide months of anxious waiting and heartfelt prayers. I hope I can remember, even when I'm on child number four and getting pregnant feels unremarkable and overwhelming, that every healthy pregnancy is a gift and always treat it as such.
Those were cyclic months, so there were times when I was fine and trusted and had faith that everything would work out how and when it was supposed to. There were other times that I worried I wasn't doing enough and I obsessively counted days and tracked the months. Christmas was especially hard because I had expected to feel a special kinship with Mary last December as I carried my own firstborn - but I didn't. Tim played Joseph in our ward's nativity but I was not Mary and that felt far more symbolic than it should have.
When that long sought-after plus sign finally appeared, I was almost unprepared for both the joy and the anxiety that came with it. As I adjusted to my new, sought-after reality, I was surprised by some of my reactions to other people's reactions. Once we started telling people in general, it was a little upsetting to me how casually my pregnancy was regarded. It was so precious to me, such a special gift, that hearing it discussed like any other topic or, even worse, joked about (as a side note, please do not call my child "spawn" - I'll bite your head off) made me defensive and upset. I think part of this was because of how long we had waited for it, but maybe all new mothers feel that way at some point. (I sure hope so, at least.) When it's not you, it seems like everyone is having babies and while it's exciting, it's not new. But to us, the first-time expectant parents? Every day is anticipated, every other thought is about the growing baby and the changes she will bring. Every moment, even the sick ones, are laced with gratitude.
My struggles were small, I know this, but I am grateful for how they've changed my perspective. What was once a sacrifice became a privilege; what was once a burden became a blessing. What seems easy and casual on Facebook ("I'm pregnant! Yay!") might hide months of anxious waiting and heartfelt prayers. I hope I can remember, even when I'm on child number four and getting pregnant feels unremarkable and overwhelming, that every healthy pregnancy is a gift and always treat it as such.
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