Infertility Is…

Pain. Loss. Shame. Heartbreak.

Infertility is getting your hopes up when you’re “late”. It’s your body tricking you into thinking your upset stomach MUST be because it has finally happened. It’s buying countless pregnancy tests. It’s hiding those boxes, tucked away in a corner so no one knows how badly you fool yourself.

Infertility is taking those tests, seeing the result you DON’T WANT TO SEE and cramming the test, box, and instructions as far into the trashcan as it can go so there’s no possible way anyone knows.

It’s when you go to buy the test and the sales clerk smiles and asks if you’re excited. It’s being asking a million and one times if you want kids. Explaining a million and one times that God, YES you want kids. You want a whole house full of babies running around laughing and trying your patience but loving every second of it. It’s knowing in the deepest part of your heart that even if you could have one… just one… that very raw spot in your heart would be soothed.

It’s hiding from your spouse, your family, just how deep the hurt goes, how much it’s on your mind day and night this secret shame and failure.

Infertility is a tiny, soft whisper 24/7 that maybe it’s because you’re just not good enough for that particular blessing. ee9312e89e7b45e64106a4fbef45900d--best-christmas-presents-christmas-eve



Our romance didn’t change the world, it didn’t make the world a better place. Our romance won’t go down as sensational, or scandalous, or to many even memorable. But to me, your love changed my world, it’s made me a better woman, a stronger woman. I borrow from your strength daily. To me, your love will be what I always think of no matter how dark things may get. No, your love for me didn’t change the world around us, but it changed the way I see the world and interact with the world.


In the years to come our love will continue to flourish, it will nurture our children.

Our love is as quiet as a whisper, as deep as the ocean, and as solid as a diamond.

Gvgeyuhi … with all my heart.

To my husband this Father’s day

Dear Husband,

It’s that time of year again. Last month we congratulated all the women for being mothers and grandmothers and consoled women who have yet to conceive that “it’ll happen when you’re ready.”

This month the same will happen for all the fathers and grandfathers, but will anything be said to the men of the women so desperately trying to conceive? I’ve never heard it. Not once.

So let me say it now.

I’m sorry we’re not there yet.

I’m sorry that this is another year that we will go through without holding our own precious bundle in our arms.

I know the desire in your heart for a child is just as great as mine.

I know when we miscarried it hurt you just as much.

I know you refuse to get your hopes up every time I take a test.

I’m sorry we’re not there yet.

But let me say this.

I know that when that time comes, when we are finally blessed, you will be the very best father.

I see it when you play with our friends’ children. When they run up to you and use you as a giant jungle gym and you just go along with it, grinning and laughing. I see it when you get in the floor with them or on the ground and you’ve never once cared about getting dirty.

I see the desire in your heart and I know it aches just as badly for the one thing we’re missing.

But it will happen, I hope, I pray everyday.

Until then, I already know you’re the #1 Father, because I see it everyday.