Remembering the Days I Prayed for What I Have Now

Infertility sucks.  That's the only way to put it. Everywhere you go, you start to feel suffocated by all the pregnant moms and new babies. Social media is even worse: the announcements and photos feel like a constant barrage.  You avoid social situations, knowing the inevitable, "When are you going to start having kids" or "When are you going to have the next one" questions will arise.  You get tired of answering those questions, then you tire of dodging them.  There are the people who, believing they are well meaning, offer suggestions and opinions for getting pregnant, adopting, staying pregnant, etc, then offer anecdotes, using their own children as examples for why you should be glad you aren't a parent.  And no, grabbing our hands and pressing them against your pregnant belly, or shoving your newborn into our arms, will not make things better.  It feels as though everyone is pregnant but you. There are the questions that go unanswered, the longing for a child to hold, or for peace over empty arms, a heart that will always feel emptier than it should. The extra bedroom that should be a nursery, the car that is suddenly too big.  Prayers that feel like they're bouncing off deaf ears, going unanswered.  For some, there is the pain of miscarriage, for others, the pain of never having conceived at all.  For all of us, there is the pain of grief.  The big "WHY?" that just can't be answered.  It's frustrating, it's maddening.  It can either turn a couple toward God, or make them run screaming from Him.

I hate it.  I hated it for us, I hate it for friends, acquaintances and strangers.  I still want to scream against what I view as the unfairness of it all.  I see couples who would make spectacular parents, and I read articles about people who are so undeserving.  I know it's not my call to make, but after years of our own frustration, I do judge. Sometimes it's just so difficult not to.  Kids lost in the system or those victims who never make it to the system, longing for families, deserving more than they have.  Couples lost in the mire and muck, longing for those kids.

What I have now is, I suppose, a form of survivor's guilt.  Every picture, every blog post, every conversation--I worry that maybe I'm rubbing it in a bit. I don't know that Shawn and I did anything differently than the other couples we know.  We had tests, I took medication. We prayed, we pined, we screamed at God and tried bargaining with Him. We praised Him for the blessings we do have, we tried to find peace when it wasn't happening. We questioned God time and time again.  We rejoiced and celebrated and praised God when we did finally conceive.  We've cried, we've been angry, we've been bitter.  We've smiled and felt full of love for the child(ren) God did give us. We've been able to fill those holes in our hearts with more children.  I don't have the answers.  I don't know why.  I try not to think about it, I just want to be grateful.

Every now and then something happens that gets me thinking about this more.  Obviously, today is one of those days.  When I see it, my heart aches anew for these friends.  I pray they will be able to experience the joy we have.  I desperately want that for them.  I want peace for their hearts, minds and souls.

In the meantime, this is my promise, not just to these couples, but to my children: I will never take these gifts for granted.  I have been granted a chance, I've been entrusted with these children.  They will frustrate me, make me cry and yell, anger me, and gray the hairs I don't pull out while raising them--but I will love them.  I will cherish them. I will be worthy of them. I will have fun with them, I will laugh with them, and I will find joy in them.  I will raise them to the best of my ability, and give them everything they deserve.  I will make sure they know what love is, and that they have it unconditionally.  They are not chores or hassles, they are my children.  I will remember the process that got us here.  And on the tough days, I will remember, I prayed for this.  This is my blessing.