Tuesday, May 3, 2016
Last Thursday, I took a pregnancy test because I could not stand the wait any longer. The need to know started drumming in my soul so loudly I couldn't concentrate on anything else. Who cared what I needed to do at work, what we should eat for dinner? I needed to know.
It said not pregnant. That was about 2 days before my period would start.
And, because with my first and only pregnancy, I'd taken a test and received a negative result, my mind still hoped, "Well, this could be wrong. Its been wrong before." My husband said the same thing, without any prompting.
On Saturday, my period started. Hopes dashed.
This Thursday is the due date of my little one in Heaven. I feel so strange and alone without her this week, even though it has been so many months since she was with us. Little one, I miss you. I wonder if you will be our only child; you are so far away, and I don't know how I will bear it.
As month after month of trying goes by, my belief that we will one day have a living child wanes. The idea becomes so foreign. Me, a mother with a living child? What would I do with him or her? Just three years ago I used to dream of having a big family...now, imagine me having six children! I have to laugh. As if I could have one. As if maternity and me belong in the same sentence.
Despite this waning of belief, despite the foreignness of motherhood, I still long for a child. To be a mother is all I ever wanted in life. I have no career ambitions; I find no solace in work. I don't know what to do with myself. My existential crisis thanks to infertility.