Building Blocks

Identity.  It’s a crazy thing really.  We define ourselves and work to have others view ourselves the way we see ourselves.  We usually are the ones who decide who we want to be…what we want to be when we grow up…where we want to go in life and what kind of mark we want to try to leave on the world.  Seldom are we prepared to receive an identity that we might not necessarily have sought our for ourselves.  This is probably why some of us may struggle with changes or with our will versus God’s will for our lives.  We work so hard for what it is we think we want or what we expect to happen and fight like heck to hang on to it even when life is clearly pointing out a different direction for us to follow or head in…we sometimes go kicking and screaming down that alternate path rather than gracefully accepting fate or God’s will or whatever it is you would want to call it.  

I learned a new term tonight.  Secondary infertility is defined as the inability to become pregnant, or to carry a pregnancy to term, following the birth of one or more biological children. The birth of the first child does not involve any assisted reproductive technologies or fertility medications according to the National Infertility Association.  Granted, in our case, we know the cause of the infertility as that was a direct result of the hysterectomy that occurred the night Charlotte was born versus those who struggle to conceive and are unable to get pregnant or unable to carry a baby to term for unknown reasons.  However, what I’m learning on this journey that I would never have chosen for us is that secondary infertility hurts as much as first hand infertility, just in different ways.  While I’m slowly healing physically speaking, emotionally, the road to healing appear to be bumpier, longer, and more of  winding road rather than the steep climb the physical healing has taken.  I’ve wrestled with feeling less of a mom since I have and only ever will biologically bear “just one”.  I feel guilty for thinking those thoughts when I recognize all those who don’t experience that precious gift of growing and bearing a life.  Then I feel less of a woman for not being able to reproduce any more which leads to wondering if Adam will find me less attractive as his wife.  

I am trying really hard to unite these sufferings related to secondary infertility with Christ and to offer them up as sacrifices and intentions for others.  I am also not wanting to wallow in hurt and to remember to be joyful over the little things too and of course am SO thrilled to pieces with our little angel so that helps to keep the grief and despair at bay some times.  As far as the jealousy and anger…well, that’s a work in progress.  Seeing large families in church or catching a glimpse of a pregnant mama gives me pangs of pain that I'm not accustomed to feeling but it does help me to empathize with those who have probably felt these feelings all along due to facing their own infertility.

Speaking of which, it seems that while there are resources and outlets for infertility in general, I’m not aware of those that may be available for those in our situation.  When talking about it with Heather the other night, I tried to downplay my feelings but she recognized the deepness of my sadness by saying, “You’re allowed to grieve.  It’s a loss” when I said something along the lines of, “It’s not like we miscarried”.  She's so right.  When I allow myself to slow down and let my mind wander, I can’t stop thinking of all the children who might have been.  All those little souls we will never meet due to my not having the womb to provide for them anymore.  Again, it’s not the kind of conversation that comes up in everyday talk so then you feel as if you have no one to tell.  When someone dies, you are able to share your grief such as in the case of a miscarriage.  Yet to think about the fact that the long hoped for children will never be born and that hope is gone is a pretty heavy load to carry.  

The other day, my mother-in-law said thank goodness Adam and I married when we did rather than put the wedding off for a year or so because what if something would have happened fibroid-wise while we were engaged or still dating that would have prevented Charlotte from being here with us today.  We will most likely never know if this would have been the case but that statement did give me pause and helped me to be even more appreciative of God's timing again.  I'm so incredibly thankful for our precious gift of our daughter.

Identity…it’s a crazy thing really.  The irony of this focus on identity is not lost on me as it is what I focused my dissertation on a few years ago.  I have a conference presentation on this very topic this Friday so I suppose it’s been on my brain even more lately.  Identity is something you can get so lost and trapped in if you define yourself one way or by a certain set of standards.  I am visualizing all the labels you give yourself, or that others give you, as being written down on individual building blocks.  Then a block is removed and the tower of blocks of "hope to be mom of many" comes tumbling down and you’re left to pick up the pieces wondering which parts will define or make up who you are now.  Which block will go on the top of your tower signifying your salient feature?  So the question then becomes…who are you now given the circumstances and what will you do with your life?  I’m working to embrace the new tower of "Charlotte's Mom" and the new pieces as I build myself back up block by block in an effort to build a different outlook...one block at a time!  The parenting journey of one versus many is turning out to look different from what I pictured but will come with its own set of challenges and joys and for that I'm grateful.  I wouldn't give up our little Charlotte Ann for anything!