Last night was the first time I cried over our struggles with infertility. I’ve felt frustrated, angry, irritated and annoyed about it before. But yesterday was one of those soul crushing, heart breaking, “I can’t do this anymore” days. When we tried to get pregnant the first time, it took about 3 years. This time we’re only at 10 months. But it’s different. We’re older. We know more. Time is short. The hope I hold so fiercely to seems to fade.
We’d been with family earlier in the evening. All the kids were running around and it hurt terribly not seeing Zoey with them. I could picture her. Tiny feet chasing around the bigger kids. Crawling up the stairs. Our cousin has a little girl with Down syndrome. Another trisomy. And she is darling. Cute little blond curls. Sweet little eyes. And on the way home I couldn’t understand why Zoey had Trisomy 18. The one considered “incompatible with life”. Why? Why that one instead of a different one? Ridiculous, right? And I know our cousins love their little girl, but don’t always have an easy road either. But she’s here. And she’s playing and she’s amazing. And I have a feeling they understand more than most.
And then I got home and confirmed that another month has gone by without getting pregnant. And it just crushed me this time around. Why isn’t it easy for us? Why don’t we get joy? Why is our life filled with fertility medications and sticks and apps and blood draws? And why do I have to wonder if we’re just not meant to have living children?
It makes you question everything. The universe. God. Because it doesn’t make any sense. None of it. Why we suffer. Why kids die. Why? I know it’s the question that has no answer. I know it’s the question that would chew us up and spit us out. I try so hard not to focus on it. I try so hard to stay positive. To be thankful for what I have (and I am. Believe me I am). But sometimes it is completely exhausting and all I can do is crawl to my husband and cry. And for right now, I just need to sit with that. I need to linger in the dark for a bit and not try to talk myself out of it. Because this is hard. I miss my daughter. And I wish things were different. And I wish it was just easy for a minute.