I often wonder if I would have kept every pregnancy test I’ve ever taken, how many there would be. My husband only knows about the ones he was home for. I never told them about the ones I secretly took when I was alone; because I just wanted all of the digital “Not Pregnant” to be a lie. Maybe, that one was broken. Maybe, that one was faulty. Maybe, it was just wrong. Maybe…
Today I’m 36 and the momma to two beautiful and amazing wild things. I have said a million times that God didn’t allow me to carry my babies because He knew that these two boys were meant to be mine. Had I given birth to my own child; I wouldn’t have my boys and that is not a life I want to imagine having. I love my boys with my whole heart. They are as much my babies as if they would have grown in my womb. They are the most precious things in my life along with my husband and knowing Jesus.
You see, I trust His plan and I love that He had this road for me. But, it will always hurt. The pain will always be so real. Pregnancy announcements arise this pain from the pit of my stomach right into my broken heart. Seeing pictures of my friends newborn babies makes me silently cry in shouting pain to God and letting Him know that I know His way is better, but oh how it hurts.
Every time my period is late my heart hopes and I think I unconsciously say a tiny prayer to let there be a miracle. Every time I am spotting or my body is doing something foreign I think maybe God has a surprise for me. The thing is that with PCOS I always spot, my period is always late, and my body is always doing something foreign. I can clearly say I don’t want anymore children because I’m so happy with my two gifts from our maker. But, there’s a little voice inside that always says maybe…
I imagine what she or he would look like. I look at myself in the mirror and poke my belly out and imagine what I would look like. I think of ways I would tell my husband the news. I think of my own mothers reaction. I think… and I think… and I think…
I push away from friends who just had the blessing of giving birth. Not because I love them less but because my heart shatters and it takes me a while to pick up the pieces. I’m joyful FOR you and I rejoice WITH you; but I also break for me.
And listen ladies all of those feelings are OKAY. You are not wrong for feeling. You are not alone in the daily thoughts of infertility. You are not broken. Nothing is wrong with you. You are whole and you are beautiful. You are loved and you are just the way you’re supposed to be.
God picked my boys for me. I have a different type of birth story. I didn’t get to break the news to my husband. I didn’t get to feel miserable as I watched my body grow. I didn’t get any of those things. What I did get was two wild things that look at me like I can fix any problem, two humans who think I am the most beautiful woman they know, two boys who say that if they could love me more their hearts would explode; and I got the title momma. My heart swells just thinking about it. And I’m fine. And I’m grateful. And THEY ARE ENOUGH! And I am enough. I am not broken. My husband doesn’t think I’m broken. God doesn’t see me broken. I am enough and I am not pregnant.
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