Great Things Are Worth Waiting For

This post is #18 in my September Writing Project. Details are here.

Prompt: What’s the hardest thing you had to wait for?

When T and I first started dating in 2005, he told me quickly that we were going to get married and have a family. In addition to telling him “yeah, ok, cool, let’s start with a date,” I also told him I wasn’t certain kids were in my future. I’ve always enjoyed kids, but wasn’t sure I could picture kids in my life long-term. It’s one thing to baby-sit your adorable cousin and another thing entirely to HAVE A KID. To his credit, T was undeterred. 

Three years later, T proposed to me. Despite that initial conversation in 2005, I was caught totally off-guard but immediately said yes. Soon after, we talked again about kids. I didn’t want to get married and have it be a problem down the line. T assured me that if I never wanted to have kids, he could be ok with it. 

On we go. We were married in 2010. The first year of our marriage was a little nuts. My mom was sick for all of it and I found myself in a part-time caretaker role in addition to figuring out marriage. We moved, we worked full-time, and I was in school at night for my MBA. It was madness.

My mom died in April 2011. Less than a month later, one of my best friends gave birth to a little boy in the same hospital where my mom had been diagnosed and treated. T and I went to the hospital the day after his birth to meet him and I melted down in the lobby. It was too soon to be back in that place, the place that held so many awful memories. But as we all do, I got my act together and we went up to the room.

I had never seen two happier people than my friend and her husband. I’d never seen anything quite so cute as their new baby boy. And I’d never felt the kind of love I felt when he was placed in my arms.

It was as if someone had handed me a cure to my fear of that place. Horrible things had happened there, but I was holding a seven pound miracle and the immediate love hit me like a freight train. I was astounded that I could love someone so instantly without knowing anything about who this baby would turn out to be. Beyond that, he wasn’t even MY baby. It was overwhelming to feel something so strong.

And I knew then that I would be a mother. It wasn’t the right time, but I knew.

I waited a few months to be sure, but by the fall of 2011, I told T that parenthood was on the table. I told him I wanted to finish my MBA and then take six months to just exist with him and no other commitments. But I graduated in May of 2012 and by July, I had waited long enough. I was READY. Give me a baby now, please and thank you.

The universe laughed I suppose, because over the next six months we dealt with false alarms, a chemical pregnancy, a lot of blood draws and more doctors visits than I was anticipating. My doctors were surprised by the trouble we seemed to be having.

Emotionally, I was a wreck. Despite taking my sweet time coming around to the idea of parenthood, once I was in, I was all in. I was desperate to feel that strong feeling again, knowing it would be even more intense with my own child. I wanted to see T as a father. I wanted to spoil a baby with all the love I’d been so blessed to receive from my own parents. 

In this time, it felt like so many people in my life were getting pregnant or delivering babies. I was so happy for each of these people, but also heartbroken that it wasn’t me. T was such a great support too, but I felt like I was failing him. 

I was diagnosed with PCOS and in month eight was prescribed a progesterone supplement and Clomid. A few days into the regimen, I managed to bite pretty far through my lower lip while vigorously chewing some mac and cheese. (Love those carbs.) I had to call my GP and get a prescription for an antibiotic. Between that and the fertility meds, I felt awful. 

A week later, we went to dinner for my dad’s birthday. I ordered my favorite meal and just the smell of it made me nauseous. Those meds were REALLY messing wit me.

You can probably see where this is headed, but I could not. I went to bed feeling yucky in general, annoyed that I’d wasted a perfectly good shrimp scampi, and sad about all of it.

I woke up the next morning at 6:30. It was St. Patrick’s Day—a lucky day, and here I was feeling rotten. Then it dawned on me. I waited a little longer before taking the test, and there it was. Two pink lines. It had happened.

I am one of the lucky ones.

I know my story pales in comparison to so many others. We were blessed with a perfect little girl. Aside from a few pills and the mention of “let’s see how this works before we consider anything more invasive,” we didn’t have to give serious consideration to fertility treatments. It was always in the back of my mind, but it didn’t have to go any further.

Those eight months were interminable though.  Once I decided I wanted to be a mother, it couldn’t happen fast enough. Even if I’d become pregnant immediately, those nine months would’ve felt long too. I don’t know why it took so long to come around to wanting kids, but once I was ready, it felt urgent. I’m so blessed to have two sweet babies now and our path to our son was thankfully quicker and simpler. 

For anyone struggling as they wait for a baby, my heart is with you.