From Jenny

When I first moved here in the summer of 2007, I knew very few people. In addition, just two weeks after arriving, I would find out that our fourth attempt at invitro fertilization had not worked. I remember when the call came in. JB took it, and the tone of his voice as he thanked the doctor was all I needed to hear. I knelt down on the carpet in my new bedroom and began sobbing as is often the case after that call. But then, by the time I had moved to the bed to lay by JB, the deep, guttural sobs were gone. My heart had done this so many times, it just couldn't do it anymore.

We had not spoken about what we would do if we got another negative, but that night while lying there next to each other, it was obvious. I told John I could not do this again. Not now. We were committed to our remaining embryos, but I just couldn't bear another series of shots, probing, prodding, poking, crying. He agreed. My solid rock of a husband was cracking as well. He was so tired of supporting me. Of being strong and walking on egg shells and tiptoeing around me when the hormones took over. We were done with infertility treatments for quite some time. We were ready to adopt.

Just one year later, I sit at my computer. In the other room, our son Isaac is lying on his Dad's lap, sound asleep. Our son. My son.

I cannot wrap my mind around the fact that I am a parent. I do not know when it will finally sink in. Our friend Ronnie asked me on the phone to, "explain my emotions." I can't. I don't know how. I truly cannot understand or put any of this into words. Every time I take the stroller out of the car, I can't help but feel like a fraud. I know that sounds so strange, but it is totally the truth. I have tried to write this blog so many times -- to explain the way my heart is so soaring with happiness despite the fact that I still can't wrap my mind around the fact that we are, in fact, parents. But I haven't been able to do it.

Then, this past week, I received a letter from my friend Jenny. When I moved to Eglin AFB, I had my support system in Minnesota pulled out from underneath me. Thank goodness for Roberta, who was in my "Hearts Like Hannah" group in Minnesota. Months earlier she had put me in touch with a friend of her's going through IVF at Eglin. Jenny was my lifeline. She took me out to lunch the day after we got our negative result, and we met quite a few more times before life took her to a new base. She had recently had a son, Jackson, through IVF, and was such a blessing to me during those first lonely weeks here. I am not sure what I would have done without her here. I had no one else.

Jenny's letter was amazing. Jackson is about to turn one now, and even with a year under her belt as a mother, Jenny's words were perfectly capturing what I have felt during my first two weeks as a mom. She gave me permission to share portions of her letter. I share it because it explains how I feel right down to the letter. This could have been written with me. The words are so true and real for me.

Thank you Jenny for speaking for me and for giving me something I could share to explain how motherhood after infertility feels. Blessings friend!

I have been going back and forth about putting my thoughts in writing lately, but my heart has been so full and my head swimming, that I decided to just go for it.

Today was Mothers Day. Another Mothers Day come and gone. And for the first time in my life, I was able to be on the other side of that line, in that club, whatever you want to call it. It was hard. Sounds weird, huh? I know. And it is hard for me to explain. I remember it was the same last year, when I was very pregnant with Jack. I had waited for Mother's Day for years and years, to be able to take that flower at church without getting all flustered and explaining, “I am not a mom,” or to stand up at church when the pastor asks all the mothers to stand and be prayed over. Do you know what it took to even walk in that door that dreaded Sunday? After 3 years we just stopped going on Mother's Day. It was far too excruciating to endure. It was the most in your face reminder of what you did not have, but longed for more than anything else. And no one knew. I think that was the most painful part. Tim instead spent the day distracting me, going to a movie, or shopping. Anything to keep me busy. Well, last year when Pastor John asked all the moms to stand up, I stood up, after Tim’s prodding, and with knees trembling, tears streaming down my face. Are you sure I am allowed to stand?! Well, today was no different. I was nervous. I felt awkward. Why, you ask? Because it is still hard for me to just flip that switch. To “go to the other side”, if you will. I have still had much more familiarity being the infertile woman than the mom with a baby boy. This morning, our worship pastor asked all of the moms to raise their hands. Tim looked at me, beaming, and said, “Raise your hand!!!” I did, but I could not help but look around at that very moment. Was there someone near me sitting down, face looking at the floor, the ceiling? Funny how that is still my initial reaction.

I am overjoyed and honored to be a mom. This was and is the greatest gift I have received next to my relationship with the Lord and my husband. I look back on this year and am in awe of what He has done for us. His promise to us has been fulfilled. He has filled me and equipped me with an incredible confidence in Him. I always had faith in Him and in His promises, but often times I felt as if that was for everyone else, but not me. He gives miracles to everyone else, not me. After so many years of friends being single, meeting their mate, marrying, having a child, having another child…oh, and pregnant again…here we were, still struggling through the same thing. Nothing new. We felt left behind, abandoned…forgotten. As if everyone was passing us by, lapping us. We knew that was not the case, but often times if felt like it. We wondered when it would be our turn. It was so incredibly isolating. Many times, it was me isolating myself, trying to protect myself from comments, conversations, suggestions, offers of “take my kids for a day, you may change your mind”…Well, when He brought us Jackson, we knew this was nothing short of a prayed over and over and through miracle. For my body to be pregnant was an incredible miracle. Surreal, astonishing. He had done it.

I am a firm believer (especially now) that my God never, ever wastes pain. I knew that He was creating a very powerful testimony in us during these years. I just wanted the pain to be over. But now, as I realize and understand that infertility will most likely always be a part of our life, I am so thankful that I can share this journey. God has not wasted our intense pain, because He wants me to minister to the ones infertility touches. I know this. I knew this a long time ago.

There is a point to this.

I see it coming full circle. I see it not only as my responsibility, but my privilege. I want to be my friend who prayed with me before every baby shower. I want to be my girls who got the phone calls after a disappointing doctor appointment. I want to be the friends like all of you were that reminded me every so often they had not forgotten about me, even though months had passed.

This day, I am reminded of how no kidding thankful and still amazed that I am a mom! I love it, it is still special to even say it out loud…it seems like just yesterday that I was in Tampa for the Mothers Day weekend for a friends wedding and in line at Office Max for something and the lady at the check out said, “Happy Mothers Day!” And it took everything in my power to just smile, grit my teeth, and say, you too! When all I wanted to do was fall apart. No, sorry, I am not a mom. Can’t tell you why I am not, but I am not. I am still waiting. Do you know when it will be my turn?

That feeling is still so raw, so fresh, and I pray it always will be. I never want to forget that. I know I never will.

I guess at times I go hesitantly to the “other side”, for I do not want to ever forget where I have come from. But I just praise Him for it, for that sensitivity, and allow myself to enjoy knowing I am finally a mom. Every glance at Jackson reminds us how and where He has carried us to a place where we can clearly see His hand, the very people He has purposefully set in our path along the way. It is a great privilege to see this beautiful little boy and know he is a promise fulfilled. Thank you for continuing to be a part of this journey. I love you!

Jenny