Unexpected

Most of you know that I currently have 3 very close friends who are all pregnant, and all within just a few weeks of each other. Initially, I was admittedly concerned about how difficult it might be for me to watch all 3 of these girls accomplishing something at the same time that I wanted so badly for myself. I love my friends, and I was through the moon happy for each of them when they found out they were pregnant. With the two who pursued IVF, I actually spent their 2 week waits in pure dread; terrified of them going through failed cycles. I was up awake night after night just worrying about it, never wanting them to have to face the same heartache I had. So when they got their two lines, I truly was blissful... More than any other emotion I was feeling, happiness reigned supreme.

But it would be dishonest to say that there was nothing else there as well. Of course there was an edge to my happiness. A piece of my heart that broke off in jealousy, and even a part of me that struggled to understand why they were allowed to get this when I wasn’t. I am not proud of admitting that, but I think it’s real. And I think it’s something most of us have experienced when still waiting for our own happy endings. We want the best for those we love, but we also want the best for ourselves. It is difficult to watch others achieving what you worry you never will. It is painful to be passed by. And it hurts to be left wondering why it was that you didn’t deserve the same happy ending.

Of course I recognize that it’s not as simple as that. It doesn’t come down to who does and does not deserve it. I know that. It’s just… sometimes it’s difficult not to feel that. When confronted by those around you reaching this dream you want so badly, it’s hard not to look for ways to blame yourself. Your body. Your choices. Your mistakes. I would like to say I never do that to myself anymore, but of course I do. Even when I know it’s illogical, I continue to do it.

Still, I have actually been doing surprisingly well with all these growing bellies in my midst. To some extent in the beginning, I think I was almost over-compensating. Faking it to make it, and gushing and pouring myself into these pregnancies as though they were the best things ever to happen to me, in an effort to keep the jealousy and sadness at bay. But over time, it really has gotten easier. As I’ve watched these women grow and change, I have actually become completely emotionally invested in the lives they are bringing into this world. I love those babies. With all my heart. I cannot wait to meet them and to be the favorite auntie in all of their lives. The jealousy has grown to be less and less over time, almost completely consumed now by the love. In so many ways, I actually think that having all three of them pregnant at once has been healing for me. Almost like being so submerged in pregnancy all around me has helped to numb the pain of it. I’ve had no other choice but to get over it, because it’s there. Right in front of me. Every time I turn around. It’s there. And because it’s there in such abundance, there has really been no room for jealousy. No room for grief as my hands are always flocking to their bellies and my instinct is always to ask how they are and to seek out updates on the latest appointments and baby growing news. I am too excited for what's to come to allow myself to succumb to the ache of jealousy and grief.

So when it hit me this weekend, it was completely unexpected. Out of the blue in the worst possible way, with the worst possible timing. It caught me off guard, and because I hadn’t seen it coming; it almost took out.

It was the first of those 3 baby showers I have on the horizon. I truly believed I had prepared myself for this. I truly believed I was ready. But if I’m being honest (with both myself and with you), maybe I wasn’t as ready as I wanted to pretend to be. When it came time to go shopping for a gift, I went for the item that required the least amount of thought and effort on my end. I purchased no extras; no cute little toys or clothes designed to make women of child baring age melt. Nothing that required any emotional investment on my part at all. And even as I was doing it, I knew this wasn’t me. The last baby shower I went to for someone I really cared about before this whole infertility mess hit me so hard, I went all out for. I wrote a children’s book for the baby-to-be, went out and found an illustrator to do all the pretty pictures for me, and then arranged a short print so that the mommy-to-be could have spares as keepsakes. On top of that (none of which was cheap, fast, or easy) I traveled about 4 hours out of town to purchase a custom made blanket from a woman I knew created beautiful work. Like I said, I went completely overboard. And I couldn’t wait to give it all to my very pregnant friend. So now, to be putting so little thought into a baby gift for someone I loved… I knew it wasn’t me.

But I also knew in the back of my head that I wasn't up for this part. The sifting through baby things and running my fingers over trinkets and clothing items which seemed designed specifically to make my uterus ache. Something in me has clearly shifted in the wake of infertility. I no longer get joy out of admiring all these tiny little items meant for tiny little bodies. As silly as it sounds, it actually hurts to be around them. Almost more so than it would even hurt to be around a baby. Maybe because they are just reminders of what I want and can't have without the excitement of a cooing infant that I just can't help but resist? But even now, I am dreading making purchases for the next two rounds of showers. I don’t want to feel that way, but I do. Making these kinds of purchases has somehow become a chore. Or maybe that’s not even the right descriptor. It’s more like a trip to the doctor’s when I know that needles are going to be involved. It’s something I know I have to do, and I won’t exactly put it off, but… it's not going to be any fun for me to get through. And I know that. Even weeks in advance, I know that.

I hadn’t really allowed myself to acknowledge the shift in my gift buying practices until a few days ago though. It wasn’t until I woke up the morning of the shower already in tears that I forced myself to realize this wasn’t as unexpected as I was trying to pretend it to be. I should have seen the signs, even as I was picking out the easiest to find gift and allowing the store clerk to do the wrapping for me. I should have seen the carelessness in every step I was taking and recognized it to be the warning sign of a breakdown yet to come. But I hadn’t. I’ve worked so hard to pretend that none of this hurts me in an effort to allow those mommies-to-be all the enjoyment they can get out of this special time, that in so many ways I've actually almost accomplished convincing myself that I'm over all the hurt as well. At least on the days when I pretend the best.

It turns out that this weekend, I wasn't pretending so well.

The tears didn’t stop upon waking for me that day. I cried as I prepared to run. I pushed myself too hard in an effort to banish them, but then they started up again as soon as I stepped into the bathroom for a shower. I cried as I made my breakfast, and I cried as I attempted to put on my makeup. I cried over my infertility, in a way I hadn’t in quite some time.

I was half an hour late to the shower, simply because I couldn’t bring myself to rush. Once there though, it really wasn’t as painful as I had feared it would be. There were familiar faces, and it soothed me to see my friend glowing with so much happiness that I know she deserves (there’s that word again… but really, I’m not sure that any other fits.) It was easier, and I held myself together while there. But even with that, I could feel my jaw locked and my heart set on just getting through the whole thing as painlessly as possible. As all the little items I had avoided purchasing myself were passed around, I ached for what would never be. And as soon as I knew I could safely make an exit without appearing to be as cold and heartless as I was currently chastising myself for being, I did it. Crying in my car the whole drive home.

Most days, I really do think I am doing pretty damn well with all of this. I am in a good place. A happy place even. I am finding my groove again, and living my life for me in a way I hadn’t over the last few years. But in that moment, I felt so shafted. So robbed. So completely and totally broken down by infertility. It was unexpected and out of the blue, and it hurt me even more because I felt so selfish for allowing myself to succumb to this on her special day. But I couldn’t help it. It was there. It was present. And my heart was not listening to my words of reason as I attempted ever so subtly to get myself to suck it up. For a strong girl, I sure as hell was being quite the baby that day.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I truly believe I will never carry a child beneath my heart. There is part of me that I think has believed this for a long time now. Maybe even before I ever entered into my second cycle. A gut feeling that continued whispering in my ear, repeating over and over again that for me, this just wasn’t meant to be. And coming to terms with that has been difficult, because I do want it so bad. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. I know I will be a mother one day no matter what, and that when that day comes I’ll no longer care how I got there or how my baby came into my life. I know that, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

But sometimes, I still want to have it exactly the way I always pictured I would. Sometimes, I can’t help but feel like this life I have been given is not the life I would have chosen. Where is my happy ending? Where is the man who loves me? Where is the baby growing beneath my heart? Where is the family I have longed for my entire life?

Don’t I deserve that too?

It was a baby shower. Not even a baby, just the shower. Yet somehow, it brought me back to that place of jealousy and self-pity in a way that was so unexpected it almost crippled me. Caught between a place of grief and shame and jealousy so strong, that the happiness I truly do feel was entirely overshadowed.

And for that, I am not proud.

I want this to be easier. I want to be over it completely, and to not ache over the emptiness in my womb anymore. I want to be healed. Whole. Happy.

But some days, unexpectedly and out of the blue, something else hits me harder than I have prepared for.

And in those moments, I can’t help but focus on what’s been lost.

Instead of rejoicing in all there still is to gain.