The struggle with Infertility...is real!

This past week has been National Infertility Awareness Week.  Most people that know me well, know that I struggled with infertility for a long time.  I recently read a blog post from BabyCenter that inspired me to write a similar post, from my own perspective. 

Have you struggled with infertility? I understand. Have you had miscarriages? I empathize. Have you wanted to run over the “Expectant Mother Parking” signs in parking lots? Me too. Have you ever been a childless stepmom? I have. Have you gone through IVF? The adoption process? I get it.

After having been infertile for several years, now I finally have five children, all of which have a unique story about their “beginning.”

I can empathize with those of you who are begging for children, and also those of you who are begging for five minutes away from your children (even if you have to hide in the bathroom with that a Reese Cup and the lights off). I know what it’s like to cry at a poster of a baby in Walmart because you desperately want one yourself, and I know what it’s like to cry because your children won’t stop crying. I know what it’s like to have family supporting you, and I know what it’s like to feel like you are all alone.

After having finally had success with adoption and with getting pregnant within the space of only a few months, I can totally identify with the adoptive moms, the step-moms,  and the moms that have more than one or two or three or four…kids!

I know what it’s like to have black and white children as my children are of various races and genetic makeup. I know what it is like to have a step-daughter. The thing is…some families are created in different ways but are still in every way…a FAMILY! Parenthood requires love, not DNA.

I know what it’s like to be a step mom.  I know that I am not a step parent to replace a biological parent, rather to enhance a child’s life experience. I know that’s hard for a biological parent to recognize, much less appreciate.   

I know what it’s like to wait years for a baby. I also know what it’s like to bring a baby home all of a sudden, after a birthmother needed someone immediately. I also know what it’s like to suffer through the endless months of a high risk pregnancy, feeling like it will never end.

I know what it’s like to actually fear every single prenatal appointment, because there comes a point when you expect to hear bad news….at some point in every journey.

I know what it feels like to be fingerprinted for an adoption home study, to suffer through painful fertility procedures, and to try to go to sleep one night knowing that the baby inside you has died. I know what it’s like to spend money you don’t even have, on fertility procedures that have no guarantee in working. I know what it’s like to be “done” then decide to try one more treatment or one more procedure. I know what it’s like to get the call “You’re pregnant!” … then a week later to get the call “You’re no longer pregnant.”  I know what it’s like to see my baby’s heartbeat on a sonogram, and I know what it’s like to see a heart that was beating, but is not beating anymore.   

 

But I also know what it feels like to sniff that newborn’s head and want to eat him. I know what it feels like to get an hour or two of sleep a night for months. I know that surge in my heart when my children giggle, or run to me, or hug each other, or turn a single-syllable word into four syllables.

I understand the pain and the joy of so many of you moms out there. By the bad luck of my own biology, and by the miracles of adoption and modern science, I am all of you.

You know what I don’t know?

I don’t know what it feels like to hold all of my babies on the first day of each of their lives. (Due to adoption experiences and a near-death childbirth experience…I didn’t’ get to hold 3 of my children on their first day of life) I still have weird misplaced guilt about missing those first days with them

I don’t know what it feels like to go into labor and give birth. (I had one planned Caesarean section and one emergency)

 

I don’t know what it feels like to have two children. I don’t know what it’s like to bring home one newborn and devote all of your time to that one child. We went from one to three instantly. Then we went from 3 to 4…quickly, followed up by 4 to 5, 12 months later.

I don’t know what it feels like to have a pregnancy without fear.

I don’t know how to teach my black and white sons about race.

 

You know what? None of it matters. What I know, what I don’t know – maybe it doesn’t really matter. If I could go back to my childless and hurting self, what would I want myself to know? What do I want you to know?

I want you and I to know that we are mothers long before our children arrive. We become mothers the moment we decide we want to be mothers. I want you to realize that no matter what anyone else says about you, it can never change the fact that you’ve been an exceptional addition to a child’s life.  That’s a peace filled, head-held-high, soul-whole moment.  Never ever let someone take it from you.  Actions are the places where truth shines through, and words can never dim that. 

I want us to know that it doesn’t matter in what body our children arrive. If their souls are meant to be in our family, they will come.

I want us to know that the pain is only temporary.

I want us to know that someday, although the acute pain of infertility will fade, we will refuse to forget. We are going to remember the hurt, on purpose, so that we might strengthen others who are forced to follow us.

I want us to know that so many women out there understand what we are enduring. I want us to open our hearts to each other and embrace our shared pains and joys and hopes. It’s going to be okay.

I know this because YOU were given this LIFE because YOU are STRONG enough to live it.