Another cycle has come and gone. We called in the big guns this time with a fertility drug but no luck. I'm beginning to lose hope that it's in the cards for us. Maybe my body is telling me that it wasn't made for children.
I should be content with what I have. Between classes and my internship one would think that I have my hands full and be too busy to think about a baby. That I should be content to be with my husband and dogs, to be content with the struggles of new marriage, of finishing out my college life. But I'm not. How can I be when the one thing that I was created to do is kept from me? My obsession will hurt my marriage, they tell me. Just stop trying and it'll happen. But that's easy for them.
Do you feel the same? Wanting to get pregnant? The marriage counselor asked Brian.
Yeah, I guess. He shrugged. She has a medical condition that makes it hard to get pregnant so I'm not too worried about it.
He might not worry about it, but I do.
I worry every day.
I worry about seeing the two pink lines. I worry about whether my body can support a fetus. I worry about whether I'll ever feel flutters and kicks and cry when the ultrasound tech tells me it's a boy. I worry about how long it's taking. I worry about how much longer it'll take. I worry about how much money we'll spend trying to diagnose the problem. I worry about adoption and about whether or not people wanting to place their child would even give us a second look. I worry about what'll happen to my marriage when I come to Brian and know that I've failed him. I worry about whether or not I'll still be good enough. I worry about what's wrong with me that I can't be a normal person my own age. I worry about why I feel this desperate need for a child. I worry that there's nothing I can do about it. I worry about my conscience, for hating every single person who complains about an unplanned pregnancy, who complains about their child. I worry about my soul, for breaking it into pieces every single month with charts and calendars and thermometers and tests and pills only to have my hopes crushed at the last second. I worry about whether I'll be able to hold it together, to be able to smile at babies and not feel that ache in my heart where my own baby belongs.
I worry all the time.