by The Wannabe Mom
This week I’m struggling to write.
To be very honest, this week I’m struggling to breathe. Mother’s Day is Sunday, and I’m still not a mother. I’m happy to celebrate my mom—who is the coolest around — but I’m ready to celebrate me.
I’m ready to be the mother on Mother’s Day.
I’m sick of holding my breath wondering when it will happen. And I’m oh-so sick of waiting.
I have a difficult time with the waiting part of infertility. These days it seems like it’s ALL about the waiting. Waiting for my period to start. Waiting for the bleeding to stop. Waiting for my follicles to grow. Waiting to ovulate. Waiting for conception. Waiting for implantation. Waiting for two lines on a pregnancy test.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Waiting and never inhaling and exhaling. Just sitting with a tight chest. A tight throat. Tears ready to burst.
Last week was National Infertility Awareness Week. My girlfriend sent me this link to a great blog about another woman’s struggle through infertility. Here’s a video she created for NIAW that struck close to home.
One of her “what ifs” is my scariest “what if.” When I think about it my chest and throat close even tighter. And my tears—they burst.
My greatest fear is that my husband will leave me for another fertile woman. What if he gets so sick of waiting for us to get pregnant that he leaves?
I’m not the only one holding my breath in our house. Sometimes I forget he’s waiting too.
He’s waiting to jump up and down clapping with excitement when we finally get pregnant. He’s waiting to put our crib together. He’s waiting to argue about baby names. He’s waiting to wear surgical scrubs and booties. He’s waiting to hold my hand as I scream through labor.
He’s waiting to cry tears of joy when our baby arrives. He’s waiting to cut the cord. He’s waiting to announce “It’s a boy” or “It’s a girl” to our family in the waiting room. He’s waiting to drive his wife and baby home from the hospital. He’s waiting to carry that infant-seat over the threshold of our front door.
He’s waiting to be a father, and I’m terrified he’s going to get sick of waiting.
He promises he won’t. He promises if it doesn’t happen in the next year, we’ll quit trying. And, he promises he’ll be OK with that.
He says I’m enough for him. He says he’ll be happy living a life without kids. I want to believe him. I want to exhale when he looks me in the eye and makes these promises. But I can’t. I can’t breathe. I know he can’t either.
This Mother’s Day, I’ll celebrate my mom. She never tried to be my best friend, but she is. And, she never asks when we’re going to have a baby.
When I get upset, she always says, “This too shall pass.” She always reminds me to breathe.
So, Sunday—I’ll take her advice. I’ll do my best to inhale and exhale. I’ll hold my hubby’s hand. I’ll hold on tight. I’ll force him to breathe too.
I’ll bury those “what ifs” deep down inside, and I’ll pray that we don’t have to spend another Mother’s Day or Father’s Day holding our breath waiting on this infertility struggle to pass.
The Wannabe Mom has been trying to conceive for more than a year and was recently diagnosed with unexplained infertility. She and her husband live and work in Champaign, and they desperately want to drive a Toyota Sienna minivan someday. We’ll be following her journey, so buckle up and get ready to cry with her — and cheer her on, too.