Tomorrow is our 14th wedding anniversary.
For 11 of 14 years we have been trying to have a baby or adopt a child. As my husband says, we have spent so much time and energy on trying to have children, it has been our second job for 11 years.
Ironically, one of the things that first attracted me to my husband when I met him in Paris in 1995 was the way he talked about his niece. I remember he showed me a Planet Hollywood glass with glitter inside it that he'd bought for her. He missed her a lot and talked about her all the time.
After our recent loss, I have tried to figure out what it is I'm feeling. I've reflected on our 11-year journey to have a family. It was August 11 years ago that we decided to start our family. We were so excited. So full of hope and optimism. Go off the pill in August and be pregnant by the end of the year we figured...
That was 11 years ago, three miscarriages ago, two embryos ago, 10s of 1,000s of dollars ago. . .
Every month for 11 years we've hoped to be pregnant, but it's been month after month, year after year of heartbreak and disappointment.
That's what it means to be infertile, heartbreak after heartbreak.
Today I can hardly see a family on TV or in Walmart without bursting into tears. Where is my child? Where is my family?
We'd planned to go to Paris (where we met) to celebrate our 5th wedding anniversary, and then our 10th anniversary, but we never have. We've spent every penny and every moment trying to have a family, something that seems to come so easy to the rest of the world.
This year we really hoped we'd be celebrating our pregnancy tomorrow. But no, another year has gone by and we are still without child.
I am now hanging on to a thread of hope. Hope that we will still be blessed with a miracle, hope that we will still, some how, some way, have the child we've been waiting and working for, for the past 11 years for.
She Matters, Too
1 week ago