Something happened last night that hasn’t happened in quite a while. A couple of years, really.
Infertility reared its ugly head.
I’ve always believed that infertility would play some sort of ongoing role in my life. While I do believe that adopting a child will fulfill my desire to be a mother, I also know that I will never be able to fully forget the years – and associated pain – of trying to have a biological child. How could I?
I honestly wasn’t prepared for this last night, though. It seemingly came out of nowhere. It surprised me, how emotional I got, after feeling so solid for so long. I suppose it is due to the uncertainty we’re feeling with our adoption process right now. (There’s nothing new to report, by the way.) We moved away from trying to have a biological child because we were sick and tired of the uncertainty. Adoption was supposed to be the sure thing, the path that would lead us to parenthood. Of course, we know that there’s no such thing as a sure thing. But this was supposed to be the safe, there-will-be-a-baby-in-the-end route.
[Quick recap of our story, for those who don’t know or remember: Two years of unexplained infertility, including failed fertility treatments. Then three (naturally-conceived) pregnancies over the next year and a half, all of which ended in miscarriage. I was diagnosed with having a balanced translocation of two chromosomes, which, in short, effectively means that I have twice the typical risk of miscarriage.]
So, here’s what triggered my meltdown. Just before I went to bed, I glanced at my email on my phone. There was a message from Craig’s aunt, letting us know that her two newest grandchildren had been born. This should be cause for joy and celebration, right? It’s good news! But I was transported back in time a few years, back to when the news of any new baby entering the world would cause me to crumple into a little ball.
The bigger picture of the story is that Craig’s cousin and his wife have had not one, not two, not three… but FIVE babies in the time we have tried to add one child to our family. They had three girls in quick succession, and then the surprise of conceiving twin boys. They now have five children under the age of four and a half. (And yes, they have a nanny.)
[I honestly don’t think these family members read this blog. But if you are reading this, M & V, please know that this post is not about you. It’s about me. Seriously.]
Upon reading this message, I quickly broke down into tears. Sobs, really. Wails. I curled up into the fetal position and cried like I haven’t cried in so long.
I cried because they have FIVE babies and we don’t have one.
I cried because I don’t know what’s happening with our adoption process.
I cried because Craig’s aunt has five grandchildren but his mom (her sister) died without having even one.
I cried because it’s my fault that we were not able to conceive and deliver a baby like normal people.
I cried because I worry that we’ve been wasting time, and that maybe we should have been still trying to conceive a biological child while the adoption process was ongoing, even though that goes against what we thoughtfully decided.
I cried because I hadn’t cried in so long. I guess it was all building up to the point of an epic release.
I cried because I thought I was past this type of reaction to what should be good news.
I am surprised at how fragile I felt last night, and I was blindsided by the ugliness of infertility forcing its way back into my life. I hadn’t missed it one bit, and while I knew it wasn’t gone, I thought it was tucked far enough back in my mind and in my heart that I could contain it. I guess I was wrong about that.
This too shall pass.