Most people would look at my family and laugh if I told them I struggled with infertility. It lasted only a year, and had a quick and easy fix. Even at the time I felt guilty for feeling so bad about it because I had a child already and most people with this problem had none. But it was real all the same.
We had our daughter so quickly that we assumed that this would always be the case. I so wanted her to have a sibling. I had the name of my next child picked out (I was sure it’d be a boy), and I could picture exactly what he’d look like. Months went by and nothing happened. Was it my fault? Was I not a good enough mother for our daughter that I didn’t deserve another child? Somewhere in my heart I knew we’d have more children—my husband wasn’t worried for the same reason. I knew that other people had it worse than I did, but thinking that way only made me feel like I had no right to be unhappy about it, which of course made everything much worse. I didn’t get any hurtful comments, but I had one hard moment when another woman was talking about being able to visit Girl’s Camp despite having a baby, and saying she’d “better go now because [she] would probably be pregnant again next year.”
The lowest point was at a family reunion. I was trying to accept the Lord’s timing in my life and pondering how I could stop feeling so miserable. Then, at a church meeting, two cousins stood up one after the other and announced that they were both expecting. They laughed at the shock on their mother’s face, and I so much wanted to be one of them that I physically hurt. I couldn’t even allow myself to be jealous, as this would be a “rainbow baby” for one of my cousins. I had to walk away from the celebrations with my husband so I could calm down before facing people.
My two-year-old daughter loved going to her nursery class on Sunday. One morning, she hurried off through the wrong door to get there. I knew that the church hallway was a circle and that she would eventually make it to the right class, so I allowed her to go through the wrong door and followed after her. After a little while, she started getting upset. Soon, every time we passed a foyer or turned a corner, she would collapse in tears. “Nursery! Nursery!” she cried. I tried to explain. “We are going to nursery, I promise. Please trust me. We’ll get there if you just keep going. Come on, get up.” And she would get up and walk to the next corner, where we’d have to go through the whole thing over again. At last we arrived and she ran joyfully into her class.
Then I realized how much my daughter had been teaching me. My goal was taking longer than expected, and I too would stop and cry at every corner. I too had Someone with me, telling me the same things I told my little girl, but with even more patience and love. “You are going to get there, I promise. Please trust me. We’ll get there if you just keep going. Come on, get up.”
I too arrived at last. I visited a doctor, who discovered that my thyroid levels were off. I started medication and within a couple of months became pregnant with my son (who looks almost exactly like I imagined him). I learned some important lessons. I still have trials, and I still stop and cry at every corner when my goals don’t happen on my time table. But I’m starting to learn to listen to that voice of the Spirit which is always there, that tells me that everything will be all right if I just keep going.