Monday, September 21, 2015

29 Out of 30

I haven't blogged in almost 2 years.  I'm sure codes in my blog format have expired.  I'll be surprised if my fonts still work.  But, motherhood has done that to me.  Something had to give, in fact, a lot of things had to give and one of them was this blog.  But I got a figurative smack in the face yesterday.  It was accidental.  The person who smacked me would rather die than hurt me and I know that.  But, I was smacked just the same and I just can't shake it today.  Maybe it's the cloudy sky outside ominously threatening rain.  Maybe it's the hint of a headache I have.  Maybe it's that I'm on day 4 with no cigarettes and my stomach was too upset last night and this morning to take my Chantix.  Who knows.  But I'm having a "30" day.

Let me explain.  No, I'm not lamenting that I'm over 30.  I don't have PMS.  I'm living with secondary infertility, a fact which I've come to terms with over the last year and half or so, since I realized that was what was going on after we were almost a year into trying for baby #2.  And 29 out of every 30 days I'm OK with it.  Today is a "30" day.

29 out of 30 days, on average, I am confident in the decision that my husband and I made to just let God take control of the situation and to discontinue the pursuit of infertility treatment.  I know that was the right decision for us.  Earlier in the year I started having tests run and things scanned and getting poked and prodded to see what was going on.  Each visit made me feel unbelievably guilty.  I am so blessed to have the most beautiful, smart, sassy, fantastic little 3 year old.  I have so many women in my life who have experienced multiple pregnancy losses or who have gotten to feel a sweet little life in their womb only to come home from the hospital with nothing more than a care plan for themselves.  Today in particular I pray for these women, one who celebrated her son's heavenly birthday yesterday, one who will do so this week for her daughter, one who is as stubborn as a bull and won't give up on her dream.  I admire them for their strength.  I mourn their children with them.  I pray for them each day.  With those prayers I hug my sweet girl even tighter knowing just what a miracle she is.  She is proof that God knows exactly what He's doing in my life.  She is the reason I stopped seeing an infertility specialist.  She is the reason that I'm OK for the rest of my life if she's an only child.  She is the reason I have the "29" days.

But then there's a "30" day.  A day when I get blindsided and someone or some situation finds the chink in my armor, finds my self doubt, and lets the devil into my head.  Usually it's the same sweet girl who gets me through - when she asks me for a sister or pretends to have a sibling that I don't think will ever come.  It used to be the cashier/host at our local Chinese buffet.  She's a sweet lady and she fawns all over my little redhead every time we go in there.  But then, as soon as I think I'm going to make it out safe, she tells me I need to have another one so that my girl won't be alone as she holds my change hostage when I pay.  They recently got a poor health inspection score so I've been spared the last few months from that.  But, I am a southern woman growing where I was planted.  In the middle of the place where we bless the hearts of those we pity and think everyone's life should be "just so".  So much so that the majority of us think it's OK to plan other women's lives for them because, lands sakes alive, why would it be any other way? So we tell them what we think before we think about their feelings.  It's a tradition of word vomit that has been passed down generations under the code name "manners".  It's got to stop.

First it was "When are you getting married?", "You know so-and-so just got engaged, when are you going to start dating a good man?", "You've got to be lonely living in that house by yourself, you should find you a husband".  You get the picture.  I went my own way and at the old age (by southern standards) of 25 I married my best friend.  Before I even got to eat my own wedding cake I started getting the "Now it's time to have a baby!" talk.  Given that I had just recently come around to the idea that I even wanted to be a mother in the first place, these comments were also unwelcome.  I told my dad for the first 2 years of my marriage that every time he felt the need to bug me about it I was going to stay on my birth control for another 6 months.  If I had made good on that threat I would have reached menopause first.  But, when the time was right for us, my husband and I started "trying".  6 months later I was staring at a positive pregnancy test and at 37 weeks and 2 days I was rejoicing at the birth of our little girl.  Before the scar on my belly healed I was already subject to "Have y'all talked about when you want to try for number 2?".  So, by this time, these intrusive comments were normal and rolled off my back.  I was used to going my own way, doing things in my own time, and ignoring those who begged to differ.  That was, until my time wasn't right.  Until I was faced with another scenario that - yet again just like with natural birth and breastfeeding- my body isn't made for motherhood.

So yesterday was a "30" day.  This sweet woman who I love so dearly and I know without a shadow of a doubt would rather throw herself in traffic than hurt my feelings said to me "You can get pregnant again anytime now".  Wow.  On "29" days I answer comments like this with "We'll see about that" or "That's up to God, not me".  Not a lie.  Not a commitment.  Not an invitation to converse about my reproductive system.  Just a response with a smile that ends the subject.  But yesterday those words didn't come.  Maybe it was because it was the furthest thing from my mind.  Maybe it was because I was not overwhelmed with life yesterday, staring at a house that's never clean, a budget that's never balanced, and a potty trained kid peeing in her pants while she throws a temper tantrum.  Because on those "29" days, I'm pretty thankful that she's an only child and that thankfulness steels me.  Maybe it was because I had seen the cutest little boy in overalls the day before walking with his dad and wished so much that I could give my husband that.  Most of all I think it was because of the exact words that were said - you can get pregnant any time.  Because, actually, I can't.  I don't know why.  In general I don't care why because I've turned it completely over to God and I am so glad that He's in control of it and not me.  But I CAN'T.  And yesterday that reminder just smacked me right in the face.  It sent stingers to the back of my eyes so fast that I couldn't stop them and had to get out of that room, out of that church, as fast as possible.  I didn't even wave bye to my little girl.  I just walked as fast as was decent.  It still won't leave me.

I know that by tonight, after I watch my sweet girl through the observation window at tumbling and watch her get excited about eating Daddy's basketti that I'll be back in the "29" zone.  I'll be reminded that everything is OK.  Our decision was the right one and our faith is in our Lord that He will provide for our family according to His perfect will.  I know just how infinitely blessed we are to have the sweet little soul that we have in our lives and that I could never be thankful enough for God giving me the privilege of being her Mommy.  But right now it's still a "30" day and I wish I could do it again, even just one more time.