October 16, 2008

It Happens Every Time (But This Day Is Different)

Before I continue with my planned post, I wanted to remind you that I’m over at The Imperfect Parent today. If you have a few moments, will you please visit me there, too?  Thank you, kindly!

The last few months have been miserable.  I’ve said it all before.  I don’t want to rehash all the emotions, but it’s constantly on my mind, this baby business.

Yesterday I stopped to count the months, the many long months, that my husband and I have been trying to conceive a second child.  Today marks the end of the eighteenth month of trying.  The end, because my period started this morning.

A few days ago, I thought for sure that I was pregnant.  I had all the “symptoms.”  Sore breasts, bloating, exhaustion, frequent urination, night sweats, nausea, headaches, stuffy nose, moodiness and irritability, heightened sense of smell, increased appetite.

However, I knew in my heart that it was just another phantom pregnancy, that I was just obsessing about it all and therefore my body was playing tricks on me.  Or it was all the beginning of monster PMS.

And still, I drove to the store and bought a pregnancy test.  I went so far as to say a prayer before peeing on the fucking thing, thinking a miracle could impact the results.  Even though I thought I was pregnant, I knew that yesterday’s HPT would turn out the way the last seventeen did.

Just like every month before, the negative line appears and 24 hours later my period begins.  It happens every time.

Then the devastation and disappointment set in.  The crying ensues.  The frustration and anger sweep in and take over.  The bitter jealousy follows closely behind.  The vicious cycle continues and I’m helpless to stop it.

I want more children so badly that it’s all I can think about, dream about, hope for.

I’ve been in a funk and it’s beginning to evolve into a depression.  I accused my husband of jinxing us because maybe he doesn’t want this as much as I do.  I’ve blamed myself for being reproductively broken.  I’ve even looked in the mirror and berated myself for being a failure.

I didn’t go to church last Sunday because I didn’t want to stare at all the adorable pregnant women and wonder why God has granted their wishes and not mine.

Instead, I read passages in the Bible and tried to swallow this jagged little pill.  I’ve tried to put these thoughts out of my head.  I’ve avoided speaking about it with my friends and family because I don’t think they understand, nor do I think they want to hear about my “problem” anymore.

Then today, something wonderful happened.  I attended my bimonthly MOPS meeting.

I must confess that I didn’t want to go.  At my first meeting two weeks ago, I struggled.  There were many mothers in the group who were expecting, and others who were nursing their babies during the focus groups.  It was hard to think happy thoughts and not be overcome by grief and jealousy, but I managed.

Knowing the wound would be opened again, I told myself last night that I wasn’t going.  I didn’t have faith that I could deal with my issues.  Then I dropped Dawson off at preschool this morning and one of the other MOPS moms has a child in Dawson’s class.

“On your way to the meeting?” she asked.

“Ummm…I dunno.  I’ve got a lot of work to do at home…”

“Come on,” she cut me off.  “You don’t want to miss today’s speaker.  She’s inspirational.”

Even though I told myself it would take more than some inspirational woman sharing her life story to shake me out of my depression, I agreed to attend.  I prayed silently in the car for God to grant me the strength to stifle whatever emotions decided to flow out of me upon seeing all the babies.

The meeting started and our speaker, Jessica, was introduced to our group.  Jessica told us she had been a featured speaker at many women’s groups and her message that day was about how to find hope when things don’t go our way.

I admit, I was skeptical.  It was oh so coincidental that things in my life were definitely not going my way.  How did Jessica think she was going to help me, I wondered.  Does she even know anything about me?  Does she know that I’m struggling?  Does she know about my history with PCOS?  Does she know it took three years to conceive Dawson, or that I had a miscarriage when Dawson was 11 months old?  Does she know that I’m losing faith that I’ll ever get pregnant again?

My bitterness was swallowing me whole, but no sooner than these thoughts flowed from my consciousness did I realize how wrong I was about Jessica.

She told us about her marriage to her husband, Gary, and how they celebrated their 27th wedding anniversary.  She told us that after she and Gary were married they had a honeymoon baby, a boy, and a daughter 18 months after that.  She always knew she wanted more than two children, but after her daughter was born she had many miscarriages.

One day she was driving home from picking her children up from school on a terrible winter’s day.  It had rained and the rain froze, then it snowed on top of that.  She hit a patch of ice and her car swerved into oncoming traffic.  She hit a semi head on.  Her son, her oldest child, was killed instantly.  She and her daughter suffered several injuries.  Her son was 7 years old.  Her daughter was 5 1/2.

Hearing Jessica’s words, I began to cry.  As tears streamed down my cheeks, Jessica continued.   She talked about how painful it was to lose her son, but she also told us she was 10 weeks pregnant during the accident but no one else knew but her husband.  After all the miscarriages she was afraid to tell anyone about the pregnancy because she figured she’d lose that baby, too.  Especially after the tragic accident resulting in her son’s death.

Jessica talked about how her daughter went from being the youngest child, to an only child and then to the oldest child all in a year’s time.  She never expected to have a seven year age gap between her daughter and the baby boy she had seven months after the car accident.  She went on to have three more children after that.

I began sobbing.   Sobbing because I realized I was meant to be at this meeting.  God wanted me to hear Jessica speak.  He enlisted the help of my friend to make sure I heard what Jessica had to say.

Jessica told us that she learned to rearrange her priorities after the accident.  She began renewing her faith in God and putting Him first in her life, before her husband and children.  She realized that while she loved Gary and their children so very much, without God she may never have been able to have more children.

In that moment, alarms went off in my head.  I realized that I’ve been dwelling on this baby thing for too long.  I’ve lost my faith in God and His plans for me.  I’ve been putting my husband and son and everything else in my life before God.

Even though I attend church and teach CCD and pray, I really wasn’t listening to God.  I wasn’t hearing His words and understanding His plan.  And He does have a plan.  He had a plan for Jessica, and she was smart enough to trust and follow Him.

After Jessica’s talk was over, I felt at peace.  All my harried thoughts disappeared.  Instead of worrying about my biological clock ticking, instead of thinking I have to get pregnant right now because I don’t want my children to be too far apart, my mind was quiet.  And my heart was open.

I realize this might sound crazy, but I honestly believe that God has intervened.  He’s trying to tell me that He’s listening.  He’s watching.  He has given me respite from all the worry and disappointment.

For the first time in so long, I feel at peace, and I’m so grateful.