family · Infertility · trying to conceive

Tangible hope

I decided today on one of my trips between our apartment and house (we’re moving this weekend!) that I know what I want to do with my hope chest. It’s been sitting in our garage since we moved to this apartment, and now that we have a house I think it needs a better home. It doesn’t work with our bedroom furniture, it’s awkward to have in a walk-in closet, and there won’t be space in the office.

But there’s room in the third bedroom. The room that will hopefully be a nursery someday.

So I’ve decided to put my hope chest there. And instead of being a traditional hope chest (for a young lady preparing for a home and a marriage); it’s going to be a place where I store things for the baby (or babies) that we so desperately hope to have. Children’s books, things I want to pass along to my children; and maybe I can even start making baby things once my craft room is all set up. I also think that I may start purchasing a baby related item every time my monthly visitor shows up as a way to distract from the disappointment and do something productive instead that keeps me hoping that eventually there won’t be a failed cycle.

After deciding this (and running it by my husband); I reached out to both my mom and my mother-in-law to ask that they make various items for the chest. My mom has sewn/embroidered little outfits for each of her grandchildren, and my mother-in-law crocheted several blankets for her granddaughter. I wanted to include them in this process, and while it’s weird to ask for gifts for a baby that doesn’t even exist, I figured they’d both be at least understanding of the request.

My mother-in-law responded almost immediately with a photograph of an already completed baby blanket with a sticky note attached to it reading “2019; My HOPE blanket, Rainbow Baby (Boy), ***** and ****.” She went on to say that she has two blankets made and would love to add them to the chest.

My heart feels so full right now. It was so very comforting to have that visible (and tangible) evidence that I’m not alone in this after all; and to be reminded that others are not just hoping with us but actually planning for our future child(ren).

So here’s to filling a hope chest with tangible reminders to wait and hope and keep praying for a someday baby…here’s to tangible reminders that I’m not in this wait alone…and here’s hoping I don’t have to purchase all that many items before there’s an actual recipient for them.

 

grief and loss · Infertility · journal entry · sermon takeaways · trying to conceive

The loneliness of infertility

I haven’t felt like writing very much recently. Part of that is just being so busy with work lately; and between that and trying to do work on our new house and start planning for a move…there’s hardly any time to think.

But it’s been a while (again) and I’m finding that I’m in a rather uncomfortable place emotionally so I need to try and sort things out.

Things are fine during the day. I’m occupied with the aforementioned work/house tasks and that keeps me distracted. And most of the time I’m so exhausted at the end of the day that I just crash.

But lately I’ve been finding myself overwhelmed by a cloud of negative emotions and I can’t get myself out of it (other than by going to sleep; which ends up being difficult if I get down enough).

This infertility journey has become very lonely. I feel so isolated. Yes, there’s people I follow on social media and various blogs; so there’s indirect encouragement sometimes. It’s helpful to see that I’m not alone; but that isn’t translating to my immediate day to day life.

People have all but forgotten about the miscarriage; and I don’t think they realize that the continuing to unsuccessfully try is almost as hard for me now as the miscarriage was, and how difficult it has been to deal with the unsuccessful IUI. And they don’t ask. I want to be heard; but I don’t want to force my emotions on anybody so I keep them inside until someone asks.

I even feel like I can’t really talk to my husband about it. Which is absolutely not true; I know I *can,* he always is willing to listen. But I know I sound like a broken record whining over wanting to be pregnant and whining over who didn’t say or do what I thought they should have, so I just get tired of repeating the same things and making him feel badly for not being able to fix it or make me be able to move on.

He made a comment recently indicating that he wouldn’t have even been able to remember our baby was due in October; and that really stung. I know those dates are more meaningful to me, but I guess I thought he would at least remember our due date and hoped that when the time came he’d acknowledge it.

So even in the processing of the loss (which was definitely set back by the failed IUI) I feel very alone and forgotten. I get a sense of, “why are you still being so angsty about this” from people whenever I do bring something up related to it.

I can’t handle pregnancy and birth announcements. I can’t handle seeing moms with newborns. I want it to be me so badly and every month it isn’t I feel like it’s less and less likely and the ache just gets deeper and heavier.

I know in the journey of all this I’ve all but forgotten God. I’ve pushed him off to a corner to try to deal with everything on my own; and so unsurprisingly he feels far away. As my pastor pointed out, “we shoo God off to a corner and then wonder where he is when we need him…he’s probably still sitting over there saying, ‘I’m here, I just gave you the space you asked for.'”

I’ve been trying to get back into reading my Bible (amazing how when I forget one day it completely throws me out of the routine even if I’ve been doing it consistently for weeks…) and I picked up a book on spiritual disciplines that I need to spend some time looking at. The sermon on Sunday was really applicable as well, he was talking about the function of lament as a means of helping us to respond well to despair; so perhaps I need to take some time to form my own lament in an attempt to reconnect with a God I believe to be good even if none of this feels good right now.

And I guess I also should just talk to my husband. He can’t fix it, but he can be there and I just need to let him.