Reflections on trying to Conceive

Every time I get my period I feel like someone has died. That potential child ushering in a new life and world for our family. The rush of excitement, the announcements, beautiful swollen belly and newborn cuddles, Elaina being a big sister.

The days of my cycle have reached mid twenties, I am soon anticipating the blood while a little voice inside says “maybe…”. The maybe is driving me crazy as I lie awake thinking about losing sleep and being sick with pregnancy or facing the grief of a red spot on my underwear.

Despite its sorrow, the period feels safe. Safe in my discontent and longing, safe in the never ending potential and the declaration, “Maybe this time, I’m sure of it!” The rise of excitement that peaks with my hormones followed by a close watch for signs. Holding on to dreams and verses, words of encouragement, aching to make them reality. Sometimes followed by relief when they are yet unfulfilled. “Two kids is so much work!”

Can I somehow enjoy this roller coaster of fertility? It is called an amusement park ride afterall. Can I soar with the highs and venture through the lows with a curious and gentle heart? Care for myself instead of judgment.

I want to run and hide from the conflicting emotions. Lock them in a box and throw away the key. Life would be so much easier, wouldn’t it? I did have a season years ago where I was numb to emotions. I didn’t want to feel anything and then I got my wish. I watched others cry with a deep longing to do the same but no tears would come.

It is painful to hope and love and give room to potential. A beautiful pain that reminds me I am alive.

Breaking into my solemn reflection comes a dear little girl fresh out of bed. “I want to see pictures of Uncle Duane and Uncle Daniel!” So much to be grateful for.