We've now known the gender for a whopping 4 days now. It is quite an adjustment to refer to the baby as "my son" or "your brother". Neither my husband nor I have any experience with little brothers so this is a new journey for us.
Of my 6 previous pregnancies, we know 3 were girls.
We kept two bins of clothing from our daughters for items 0-36 months. It's not much, but it was our favorite pieces and items the girls said they wanted for their daughters to wear someday.
We also kept the crib, but gave away the mattress, the car seat, the exersaucer, cloth diapers, etc.
I did keep the 4 newborn diapers that arrived the day I lost my last baby and have located 3 of them.
None of that matters for now. I'm just shy of 16 weeks and have a lot of time to plan and some major reorganizing to do before we can start purchasing things (although I'm secretly hoping someone offers to throw me a baby shower).
The mindset I'm referring to isn't just about the gender of my baby; it's trying to turn years of anger and hurt into something more positive and forgiving.
I sat in church today, listening to a wonderful lesson about the Good Samaritan and serving others. The teacher and class members were sharing stories about acts of service and how it affected their families. I have two children and am expecting a third, and yet, I kept thinking about my friends who have struggled to have any or who have one but have been unable to have more.
And I was angry at the injustice. Why should such deserving families be "left behind"? Will they ever have similar experiences with their children?
I sat with silent tears rolling down my cheeks, too afraid to speak up, as I recalled my pain and the prompting I felt over the summer to reach out to a long-time friend. She gave me such strength and helped me get on to a track where I was starting to heal. That last failed cycle didn't hurt quite as bad as the dozen before it had.
She is still fighting her battle and I cry for her. Every day I think about her and want to give her a big hug but know that if I could, even the sight of my growing belly could bring her pain. I don't know how much distance to keep and what to share or to keep to myself.
So here I am and I keep looking in the mirror and I see my friends and family who are still struggling so hard to find their path to parenthood. If only I could turn around, grab their hands, and guide them! But I can't. All I can do is glance in the mirror and holler my support and encouragement and let them know I love them.
Even my daughters have been affected. As a quick example, my alarm went off for me to take my baby aspirin this afternoon. My 3 year old asked, "Is that for your mouth or your girl parts?"
Now seriously, what child realizes that some medicines don't go in the mouth?? I didn't even know meds could go "in the girl parts" until last summer!!
It has become increasingly obvious that I was right: infertility has changed me and I don't think that time will ever do anything more than blur the edges of the pain a little.
The price on my family and my own emotions and mental attitude has been steep. Oh so steep. Can I change my mindset? Can I accept that I can't heal my friends? Can I ever forgive myself for being "the lucky one"?
Do I even want to?
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