We just completed National Infertility Awareness Week. I shed tears. More tears than are typical for me. Especially yesterday. Because, yesterday, April 29, was my 4 year anniversary. The anniversary of the day I became forever infertile.
As I cried yesterday, I decided I needed to share something with my fertile friends. There’s just a few things I want to say.
Dear Fertile Friends,
Thank you for placing your hand softly, protectively on your growing belly.
Thank you for using hashtags like #pregobliss.
Thank you for posting weekly bump updates with little milestones and the “my baby is the size of this fruit” picture.
Thank you for wearing adorable maternity shirts and dresses that perfectly accentuate your gorgeous new figure.
Thank you for sharing those maternity photo shoot photos. All 57 of them.
Thank you for sharing the pregnancy announcement with all the exclamation points and comments of congratulations from those who love you.
Thank you for texting me your ultrasound picture.
Thank you for including me in your gender reveal excitement.
Thank you for letting me touch your belly.
Thank you for basking in your glow.
Thank you for relaxing into your husband’s embrace as he reaches around to hug you and your unborn little one.
Thank you for posting labor updates and sweet first photos from the hospital.
Thank you for cherishing the blessing you have been gifted with.
Do these things cause me pain? Yes. Sometimes. Often.
But the blessings far outweigh the pain. Or the pain makes those blessings sweeter. Somehow. Some way both work together to comfort and heal the little pieces deep inside my heart when I get to watch you reveling in the blessing God has given you.
I also wanted to say that you did nothing wrong if I cry.
I always try to hide it. And I usually succeed. But the older I get, the more often it seems to just run over my carefully constructed walls.
I have known a great loss. And that pain will probably never be completely healed. But I don’t view that as a negative thing. I am so thankful for the gifts my pain have given me.
And, as that pain bubbles up and spills down my cheeks, please know that it’s ok. I’m ok. Being authentic in my pain is part of the healing. And you. Your precious little blessing. God is using you. Both of you. Using you to reach in and bless me. Even if it hurts.
And don’t stop. Please don’t hide your joy. Don’t stop blessing the lives of others by rejoicing in God’s precious gift to you.
Love, from me.