There was this time, probably a year in, that I came across a blog post of a girl I didn’t know. What she said wasn’t significant or detailed. I don’t remember the exact words, but it was something along the lines of trying and missing and trying again, and how it just takes time. And in that moment, those words meant everything to me.
So, here I am. Talking about it even though I try not to. Because I feel like I should. Because of the time I happened across a blog that said the smallest thing that made at least that day better. Because if even one person reads this and knows that it’s more common than people let on, and you’re not alone, and someone understands how hard it is, then this will have been worth it.
Here we go.
I went off birth control in May of 2011 [on Mother’s Day, which I felt would be just the cutest story to tell. Little did I know…]. I knew it would take a while to get it out of my system, so I expected to be pregnant before the end of the year.
Except I wasn’t.
2012 began and I decided that after seven months of feeling defeated, I was going to change my attitude. This was going to be my year! I just knew it. I put it in the back of my mind, and put all my energy into having a positive attitude. I even started exercising regularly for the first time in my life. I was happier, healthier, stronger, more patient, hopeful, just overall better.
And then my sister announced she was pregnant. At the risk of sounding like the most selfish person in the world, that was a very hard day for me. I cried. A lot. Please believe me when I say I was beyond happy for her. But here I was, a year [almost to the day] later, still not pregnant.
It was around this time that Jeremy and I decided to buy a house. It was so wonderfully distracting and I could feel everything falling into place. For both of us, this was like our prefix to having a baby. We’d say things to each other- “now that we have a house, it’ll be perfect!” or “we probably couldn’t have gotten this house if we’d had a baby when we wanted to.” And whether or not either of those things were true, we believed them. Because we needed a reason. Because we needed them to be true. Because we could be hopeful or we could be heartbroken and we’d already spent a lot of time being heartbroken.
We moved in the house on the weekend of our two year anniversary. It left us with four months to make things happen, because remember? 2012 was going to be my year!
Except it wasn’t.
For the sake of TMI, I’ll summarize 2013 and tell you that there were a lot of doctor visits, and lot of hope and a lot of feeling let down. This was definitely not my year, either. As I’ve said before, it was one of the harder years of my life. We spent six months going to my regular OB, and three months meeting with a specialist that we LOVED, only to be told that he left the practice and they would not tell us where he was moving to. The whole year I felt like I was on an emotional roller coaster. It was as though my emotions were always right on the surface, ready to expose me at any moment. [And they did many times].
There’s no reason. That’s what they’ve told us, that there’s no reason this shouldn’t work, no reason it hasn’t worked. We fall under the category of “unexplained” infertility, which is incredibly frustrating and a little bit relieving all at the same time. I can’t decide if it’s better to have an answer, because I’m a little bit afraid of what that answer could be.
We’ve felt this whole time that when it happens, the timing will be right. I don’t know that we’ll ever understand the ‘why’ of this trial of ours, but we’ve always had faith that the Lord has a plan for us, even if that faith has wavered at times. Even if I’ve spent a lot of time on my knees asking that very question- Why? Why is this my trial? Why hasn’t it happened yet? How are people getting pregnant on accident when I can’t do it on purpose? Why am I not “trusted with a precious spirit” like everyone who likes to point out that they are? Why, why, why?
And so we’re here, three months into 2014, closing in on three years of this, with a new doctor and a new hope.
There’s something about that word, hope. Something about the way we’ve overused it in the last few years. Hoping each month that this would be the month things would click. Hoping to see that positive mark. Hoping we get our happy ending.
I don’t believe our faith and hope has been in vain. It feels that way sometimes, a lot of the time, but deep down I know that’s not the case. I know our babies will come, just when they’re supposed to. If I’ve learned anything throughout this process, it’s that God knows better. I forget that a lot, but when I remember it’s the most at peace I feel. He knows.
We continue to hope. Because we don’t have any other choice. Because it’s better than letting the feelings of defeat overcome you. Because it’s real, and we know that this is really, really, really going to be our year.