I struggled with unexplained infertility for several years. The details of which will be content for many future posts, I’m sure. If nothing else, the experience did create a lot of writing material, so there’s that.
Throughout my pregnancy with Nathan I was overwhelmingly grateful to finally have the chance to be a mom. I’d gotten to the point that I wasn’t sure it would ever happen, and there was NOTHING I wanted more. The months and years of repeated heartbreak had wrecked me. And the absolute joy I felt was what I’d always imagined it would be.
I had an easy pregnancy, and an even easier delivery….gifts to me, I’d determined, for having been so tortured in the getting pregnant phase of things. Gifts that I felt I needed to be grateful for at every moment, in ever conversation. I was uncomfortable, pregnancy is uncomfortable, but I should be grateful for that discomfort. Pregnancy was exhausting, but I was lucky to be exhausted. No room for negative thoughts. I wasn’t allowed to have them, that would be ungrateful. This was what I’d wanted, dreamed about, wished for, prayed for, hoped for. And it was perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect.
When he was born, it was a dream come true. But, having a newborn isn’t all rainbows and unicorns. It’s hard and imperfect. It took me a while to let all my thoughts and feelings come together and find their right balance without any guilt. Even now, nearly 9 years later, I’m often stopped dead in my tracks by the awe I feel towards my children and the privilege it is to be their mom. But, that doesn’t mean they don’t drive me insane, that I don’t get frustrated with them. There’s room for all the emotions. Except the guilt, no room for that.