Well, y’all…somehow we’ve made it to the end. While I may not have broken the finish line ribbon quite yet, it’s in sight. I may be huffing and puffing when I get there, but I will break it. (As if I don’t huff and puff enough from just putting on my shoes.) I am, at most, three and half weeks from delivering our sweet (and already stubborn) baby boy, which means this may very well be my last post before his arrival.
A year and a half ago I wrote these words in my first ever blog entry at a time when I hadn’t shared my blog with anyone…and honestly, didn’t really intend to:
I’m not sure what it is, but something tells me this time will be different. So, here I begin this blog. This story of Us: While We Wait.
As it turns out, there was a lot to be learned in the wait. In my second post I wrote:
I don’t really know how to be infertile. I figured this road out on my own over the years, and I’m sure I didn’t do it right. But also, I’m learning I don’t really know how to not be infertile either.
I can’t say that I ever learned how to be either of these things: fertile or infertile. Maybe that was the whole point of this blog – I don’t have to be one or the other. More than anything, I have learned who I am and what I’m made of. And what I am made of is a little bit of a lot of things.
I am fertile and infertile.
Broken, but glued back together stronger than I was to begin with.
Sensitive, but tough as nails.
Impatient, but at peace in the wait.
Realistic, but hopeful.
I will forever be all of these things.
This may come as a surprise to some, but I do not believe that “everything happens for a reason.” In fact, this sentiment alone may have caused more damage to my own mental health than anything else.
I spent years, thirteen to be exact, watching friends and family decide to start a family and, within a few months of trying, do just that. No thousands upon thousands of dollars spent, no timing and charting to find the most fertile 48 hours each month, no daily testing, no needles and test tubes.
I actually used to believe it when people tried to reassure me with those words. But what I heard was, “there is a reason they are a mother and you are not.”
I learned that this is not the case. Sometimes life just happens, and it’s not about “what’s meant to be”, but what you learn from the hand you are dealt and how you use those cards to grow and become better because (or maybe in spite) of it.
That’s what I have tried to do.
There is nothing I have done, and nothing about me, that makes me deserve this gift any more than the next Infertile Myrtle. My body just, after all these years, responded to treatment one time. I am lucky as hell, but I sure don’t deserve it. Most importantly, I will (and hopefully in some ways already have) become a better person because of it.
I have no idea how to end this blog. I am both incredibly busy and beyond exhausted, but I will try to make the time to do one more entry before Jude’s arrival and figure it out in the meantime.
I am scheduled for a C-section in about 3 ½ weeks. My little guy is breech and running out of time to flip. He has made himself comfortable high up in my ribs. While it’s pretty uncomfortable for me, I’m totally okay with it. I’m not quite ready to share him just yet.
Other than his inconvenient position, he appears to be completely healthy. We have lots of eyes on him as we come into the home stretch. I am at the hospital three times a week – which helps ease my constant worrying. Nine months pregnant and I am finally changing my tune from “if I can get him here” to “when he gets here”.
There is always a chance that he could flip in the next few days or that he could decide to make his arrival early, so things are not necessarily carved in stone quite yet. Perhaps just written in pen. I promise to keep everyone updated through this blog and Facebook/Instagram as we get closer. Justin and I plan to go radio-silent for a few days on social media when he is born. After all this time, we are looking forward to basking in our first few days as a party of three. But be prepared for an onslaught of baby pictures once we get home and settled.
For now, I will say thank you one more time. Thank you for all the love and support you have shown me and my little growing family over the last year and a half. While I know now that I am capable of doing it on my own, I am certainly glad I didn’t have to.
two. eight. twenty-three.