The grass is NEVER greener

I heard a story today. The kind that usually makes me sad. And cry. And throw a pathetic pity party.

But I didn't.

Here's why:

I learned today that my maid of honor, with whom I had a falling out soon after the wedding, is pregnant. She has not been married as long as I have and married someone that more than a few people told her was a bad idea.

The part that gave me pause was that this wasn't the end of the story.

Apparently around the beginning of her pregnancy, her husband lost his job. So she has to go right back to work shortly after she has the baby (which was not part of her plan, knowing her).  Losing the job led to them losing their house because it was tied to the job. Her and her husband were forced to move in with his parents.

So sure she's pregnant, but now her two income family is down to one, they are homeless, and her plans of being a stay at home mom have gone up in smoke.

I'll admit - when I heard the first part about her pregnancy, I braced myself to feel the tsunami of sadness. I didn't feel it. The rest of the story could have made me feel smug. I didn't feel that either.

Here's what I felt:

Humility.

This story hit me between the eyes. I saw myself in it. Yes, I realize she's pregnant and I'm not, but if you dig just a little deeper, God reveals just a glimpse of himself if you dare to look closely enough.

In both our stories, we are setting out with our own goals and plans. Marry the person of our choice, work until you have kids, have said kids, stay home with them, raise them, and live happily ever after.  Or some close iteration of those plans.

While we both may have started with the same plan and ended up with different stories, we still have one common message   This life isn't ours. This world isn't ours. Our best intentions and plans are laughable. They're pointless. God took both our plans and turned them inside out and has used them to teach us lessons. The lessons belong to each of us and our own journeys. But we both are being shown by God that HE is in control. HE has the plans. HE is the one who matters and what HE wants.

I am tremendously grateful I found out about this old friend and her circumstances. I now see my situation differently. I don't feel sorry for myself. I don't think the "grass is greener" on the other side of my neighbors fence. I now see that my journey is just that. My journey. Her journey is her journey. Your journey is your journey. No matter what situation we find ourselves in, we are ALL in situations. Sinners is what we all are and we all need the blood of Christ to save us.

My perspective has completely changed.

Like I said. This story hit me between the eyes. And I couldn't be more grateful.

Does time really heal ALL wounds?

It's been a few days since the "news" of not being pregnant. Again. (I use quotation marks on news because I had already decided I wasn't pregnant the week before hearing the official word).

I'm a pensive person by nature and am constantly taking stock of my emotional and mental state. Since it's been a few days, I assessed and thought about life and where I am. I was suddenly struck by the phrase "time heals all wounds." But does it really?

There are so many times throughout my life I've heard these words. Or some iteration of the phrase.

"Things can only get better."

"Give it time."

"You'll get through this."

Even using the Bible against me with "In His time, He makes all things beautiful."

So my question is, how long do we have to wait? A day? A week? A year? 10 years? Is there a set amount of time that I must give in penance before I see the bright side?

Up until recently, those questions would have been laced with despair, dripping with sarcasm, and soaked in bitterness.  Until recently.

I don't know if something clicked inside my head or my desires subsided or I simply accepted my fate. But something shifted in my heart during this last procedure. I want to say it was because of the result, but if I'm honest, I think it's been shifting for awhile.

Don't get me wrong - I want children. I've always wanted children. But at some point, I just kept thinking and asking if all the heartache was worth it to me. Eventually, the answer quietly became no.

If God decides some day to make us parents, we will gladly welcome it. There are many joys in parenting that we only hear about and can't understand unless we are one.

But I'm slowly realizing (and accepting) that this is probably my new reality. And while I think time will make it a little easier to lead a childless life, I don't think it will ever heal completely. And to me, it's a scar that will remind me of my capacity and desire to love.

When is enough enough?

Note:  This entry is my thoughts, feelings, and heart bare for all to read. I left off my filter with this one. I apologize in advance if what I said offends or upsets you. These feelings and thoughts are my own.


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Negative.

"I'm sorry to tell you."

"That's too bad."

"That sucks."

"What a shame."

"Hang in there."


Another month, another failed procedure. I got the call while I was at work. I had figured it was negative for a few days before the official blood test and the message only confirmed my suspicions. Unlike every other month, I didn't get sad. I didn't cry. I got mad.  Pissed, actually. If asked, I'm not really sure I could have told you who I was mad at. Myself for getting my hopes up? The fertility clinic for constantly telling me how "great" everything looks only to end up in sadness? God because He's really the only one who controls my fertility? Maybe all of the above. Believe me, I'm not proud of my anger.

Shockingly, I held it together at work. No crying, no irritability. Life went on. It's tough to get a read on my personality from a blog, but I'm a emotional sleeve wearer. I hide my emotions about as well as Miley Cyrus hides her... anything.

So to come out of this phone call showing and feeling little was miraculous. Little did I know, it was coming.

On the way home, it finally hit me like a wave. A tsunami actually. Started talking to God in the car (because where else do you feel like you have his rapt attention). Eventually I started pouring out my heart and crying out between gulps that I didn't know how much longer I could continue on this journey. And quite honestly, I meant it.

A question my husband and I have to ponder is when is enough enough? At what point do you and your spouse determine that your fertility journey is over?

Is it when you run out of money?

Is it when your body looks like a purple pin cushion?

Is it when a doctor tells you to stop?

Is it when your marriage begins to struggle?

Is it when you lose friends because they're sick and tired of that being ALL you have to talk about?

Is it when your uterus finally raises the menopausal white flag and says, "Dude, you've put me through enough. I'm not even going to give you any option anymore. I'm out"?

I think every woman and every couple is different and has a different journey. I would never tell someone what they needed to do. Right now, I feel like I'm about done. We have frozen embryos from this last round and after those are done, so am I. There are a lot of reasons I'm coming to that decision, but here are a few:

1. There are no guarantees. Even IF we got pregnant and had child(ren), there is NO guarantee that life with them would be smooth sailing. There could be physical deformities, mental challenges, accidents that ends lives, cancer, SIDS, sickle cell, and so much more. On the flip side, there are no guarantees that we will ever be able to conceive, with or without assistance.
2. Having children isn't like waving a magic happiness wand.  It wouldn't make life that much more bearable. It wouldn't instantly cause all sorts of peace and contentedness. I'm not saying it's not rewarding to be a parent. But in all reality, there are downsides and living in a land of idealistic notions about the perfection of parenthood is foolish.
3. I'm not 100% convinced that if I had children I'd "figure it out." I've always voiced my concerns about what I would be like as a parent. I had two terrific role models in the parent department. Yes, they made mistakes, but I really couldn't have asked for a better picture of what I'd want to shoot for. In fact, my mom is a large part of why I wanted to be a mom. I was looking for that relationship with a daughter or son of my own. But I'm not convinced I would be able to "figure it out" like so many parents swear to me they do once they became parents. Part of me is sure I would mess up a kid because well... I just would.
4. My body is a temple. Ok, that sounds stupid, but biblically it's really true! We only have one body and God granted us the use of it. I can't in good conscious continue to wreck havoc with my reproductive parts when the chances of reaping the rewards are slimmer each day.
5. My mind/heart is a temple. Again, this sounds stupid, but this whole fertility journey assassinates your emotional state. There are too many days to count that I feel like I'm breaking on the inside and can physically feel it in my heart. I've been told that this is God refining me, but let me tell you - it hurts like hell. I can't keep continuing on this ride where I think that I've eventually get back to the station, having gotten what I wanted out of the ride, only to be told I have to keep on riding and there's no telling when I'll get off. No, thank you.
6. My marriage is sacred. My husband is the single most important person in my life. I in NO way want to jeopardize what we have together and this journey tests it at every turn. We have to agree when to start, what procedures do we feel comfortable with, what costs we feel comfortable with, when do we stop, etc. While this process has made our marriage stronger in some respects, it WILL at some point begin to wear and tear. Like the bible says, if the left hand is sinning, cut it off. A hypothetical possibility of a child is not worth risking my marriage.

These are just a few of many. Honestly, there is some relief in deciding that there's an end in sight. It doesn't make me happy, per se, to decide to stop pursuing children. But what I do have is peace. My life won't revolve around doctor's appointments, blood work, twice daily injections, number of follicles, shots in the butt, 24 hour bed rest, full bladders, timed intercourse, or copays. I can have my life back.

There is a part of this decision that I'm not looking forward to. I don't want to have to go into the explanations. Family and friends who know our situation will be hard enough. Talking to my sister-in-laws and explaining that if/when they get pregnant, could they tell my mother-in-law instead of me because I'll have a hard time hearing they got pregnant. Telling my parents and in-laws we will never make them grandparents.  Telling my friends that those years they prayed and listened to me cry and complain were for naught. All of that will be devastating.  However, explaining to anyone I meet in the future who asks about whether or not we want kids will be a killer. No, it's not anyone's business. No, I don't owe them an explanation. But the question hurts merely because it's a reminder. Almost like a taunt. I'm sure with time the question will hurt less, but it's still never going to go away. We won't be childless by choice.

Of course this then lends itself to the question, "Wait! You don't have to be childless; you can adopt!" Yes, I'm aware of that option's existence thankyouverymuch. Choosing to adopt is a MONUMENTAL decision that I would never in a million years take lightly. To be frank, I'm not sure my heart is there. And I would never even consider it unless my heart was 100% committed. That isn't fair to me, my husband, or the child. My hope is that people don't judge me for my heart's status on the adoption subject. I would never hold it against someone who didn't want biological children of their own. It's a personal decision and I encourage every partnership of marriage to decide what's best for THEM. Not the masses. Never do something that you and your spouse are fully committed to, spiritually, emotionally, and financially.

Have I come to a final decision? I almost think so. I'm 30 years old. I've spent the better part of the past 3 years committing my life to trying to conceive a baby. Now I want to live my life with my husband and enjoy it. If God gives us a miracle child naturally, wonderful. But I no longer will live my life making a maybe possibility the main focus of my life. I deserve better. God deserves better.