I was sitting in my sister’s car waiting for her to drop Spence off at grandma Hirschi’s. While I was waiting for her, I saw her sister-in-law, Sandi, cleaning out her van. She is pregnant with her fifth child and starting to really show. Wade her youngest was tagging along beside her, Anna her next youngest was running in and out of the house, and her two oldest boys were in the backyard playing in the grass and dirt.

As I watched her walk back and forth, I had the instant reaction I always have. You know, the ‘I hate her’ reaction. I automatically turned away so I wouldn’t have to make eye contact and give a fake smile. This is always my first reaction whenever I see someone I know with a cute pregnant belly. Yeah, like ignoring the pregnancy will make it go away or something, right? Totally irrational! This time though I had an immediate follow-up thought, which was: ‘rach, it’s not her fault that you aren’t pregnant. And this is not her trial, it’s yours.’

The this is not her trial idea kept running through my head as I watched her busily take care of her family–all with a beautiful humble smile on her face. And the little voice that spoke to me is right, this is MY trial! I must continue to own it. Sandi’s trial is very different, I am sure. And I wouldn’t trade my trial for hers. I wouldn’t trade it with my friend Jes who lost her little baby just a few short months after waiting years and years for him. I wouldn’t trade my trial with her sister Nichole who lost her husband in her early thirties. I wouldn’t trade it with the myriad of other friends and acquaintances who’s trials are intense and difficult.

However hard my trial is–I wouldn’t trade it. Infertility has brought me and my husband to a higher level of respect and love for each other. It has guided me to a level of compassion and understanding for others that I never thought I was capable of. And my trial has, in essence, led me to my children. Why would I trade it?

In conclusion, my mind continues to war with others’ bellies, and it probably always will. As my understanding grows, however, the twinges of hurt lessen. Although the jealousy doesn’t go away, dealing with it does get easier. And after sitting in the Pathfinder watching Sandi work, I realized I still really really want to give birth to a child. I don’t think that will ever disappear.

Now if we could just do something about the bellies getting bigger……………..

To go or not to go? That is the question.

My first Mother’s Day as a married woman was spent sobbing at church as I had just completed my first miscarriage. Not recommended!

My second was spent leading the music on the stand, I cried so hard that my sweet husband had to lead the last song and then took me straight home to bed. So much for trying to be strong and graceful. 

My third childless Mother’s Day I planned ahead. I retained a substitute for my mia maid class and played hookie with my hubby. This option is highly recommended. I didn’t have to be strong in front of a dozen growing bellies. I didn’t have to endure talks that were meant to honor current mothers and inspire those whom they serve, but which left me in tears. And, let’s be honest, I didn’t have to feel like the fraud I always do when the bishop asks all the mothers in the audience to stand up and recieve a token of gratitude. If I stand, I’m a liar. If I don’t stand, I have people around me telling me to stand because I am a mother “in spirit”, which makes me feel like a big baby. Gag me, please!

So, what do I do this year? I am kind of a mom or at least I’m hoping to officially gain the title in a few short weeks. But Mother’s Day for me is not so much about the future. It’s about the past. When this time of year rolls around my thoughts return to my lost babies. I feel a deep sense of sadness for what could’ve or should’ve been.

I think I can say that I’ve moved past the self-centered stage, which I was in for a couple of years–I’ll admit it. The last few years I cried because I wasn’t a mom and others were. But now, as I have the beautiful blessing of four children on the way. I have so much to be grateful for.

No, no. When I cry this year, it will be in rememberence. And the tears that flow when I think of my lost babies are not pretty. They are tears that remember the pain of wanting and the pain of loss. They remember the physical pain of miscarriage and the sorrow of being told that our baby is dying, AGAIN.

The tears are also for my best friends who are in the midst of their own losses and sorrow. They are for my sister who gave birth and lost her twin sons all in the month of Mother’s Day. They are for my mom and friends’ moms who I know shed thousands of tears on our behalves just because they are our moms! And they are grandmas to our losses.

Just because I’ll soon be a mom doesn’t mean the memories and disappointment of pregnancy somehow disappear. And I hope they never do. My life’s experience has made me who I am and so much of that is tied up in the past four years. Although this weekend kind of sucks, I’m grateful for the yearly reminder.

And gone is the mormon guilt of a few years ago. I probably won’t attend church tomorrow, and I’m okay with that.

Where to begin, today? I guess the idea that is currently on my mind is the “why don’t you just…” annoyance!!! First, some background.

I’ve been on the treacherous albeit enlightening road of infertility for almost four years now. For some I am still considered in my infancy. For others I am the gatekeeper! Okay maybe not the gatekeeper, but at least the crazy old lady who gives advice from her front porch’s rocking chair. However, it is much simpler for myself–I’m just a girl who wants to be a mom.

I have tried to keep an open mind throughout these four years because I wanted so desperately to learn from each experience…each miscarriage, each blood-draw, each ultra-sound, each meeting with the OB. I soaked up as much information as I could to remain intelligent about my body. I did this dilligently and sorrowfully. As miscarriage and sadness piled up, so did the pressure to make some firm fertility decisions. Adam and I both knew to stay level-headed and take our time as to make the best decisions for our future family. Although I am better for it now, it was so very difficult in the interim because all I wanted was to make decisions emotionally. Choosing the path of adoption did not come easily, it was not instant, and it was not without hesitation.

Speaking with some experience, I know that most, if not all, friends, family, and passersby do not say things out of malice. They say things out of ignorance or curiosity. If there is one phrase that bothers me and my sisters-in-fertility-arms most it is “why don’t you just (fill in the blank)”. Are you kidding me???

Why don’t you just ADOPT? Right, why don’t you just decide that experiencing life inside a growing belly–the essence of what we were born to do– isn’t all that important? Why don’t you just decide that never seeing the physical reflection of yourself when you look at your child is no big deal? Why don’t you just tie your hope and your pocketbook into the possibility of a baby just to have it yanked out from under you at the last second, time and time again. Attachement disorder, interrupted adoptions, and birthmother issues are real and painful.

Why don’t you just FOSTER?: Oh yeah, I feel like saying, ‘why don’t you just do that’? Why don’t you just bring years and years of trauma, baggage, and sometimes danger into your family? Why don’t you bring a child–who desperately needs a stable and consistent environment–into your home and bond. Watch him or her thrive and grow knowing all the time that child will probably return to an unfit parent or be moved to yet another foster home with no time to say good-bye. Those who foster are heroes…they are true hereos.

Why don’t you just try IVF? Excuse me, why don’t you just decide to give yourself shots in the belly daily? Why don’t you let someone reach inside of you and yank out a bunch of your eggs? Why don’t you just spend $15,000 with the hope that one tiny little embryo that was formed outside of the womb will decide it actually wants to attach to the uterine wall and become a viable pregnancy? At least adoption, international adoption anyway, can somewhat guarantee a baby at the end of the process–even if it takes awhile.

I decided a long time ago to not carry a chip, to not judge too harshly, and to remember that if someone is asking, they probably care about me. It does not make the moment any less annoying. For those of you who have family or friends in this situation, and are wondering what the right thing to say is here is my last word– there is a big difference in asking ‘why don’t you just’ and “hey, I don’t understand your trial, what can you teach me? what are your thoughts on adoption versus in-vetro? do you think you’ll ever consider the possibility of (blank)?” Don’t walk on eggshells. Just put yourself in their shoes before you ask an intensely personal question.

There is no regret in my decision to adopt. I just know how many tears, prayers, and dollars it took me to be a few weeks away from meeting my children. I told a friend the other day that I should really call this a fertility blog w/ a bit of adoption sprinkled on top. Oh, and there’s more on the way!!! I think the closer our adoption gets, the more urgency I feel to document ALL of my fertility. *Readers Beware*