Mother’s Day was Sunday, and we enjoyed it with my family, complete with pizza and wine on the deck, food coma sun bathing, and reminiscing about old stories, all of which are either too boring or embarrassing to mention here. It was such a fun time, but I couldn’t help the ache in my heart as I wondered when the day will be mine to celebrate too. On the drive home I told Bob “maybe next year I’ll be a mom” and he smiled, and acknowledged my comment, and looked at me with understanding eyes, and it was good to say the words that I had been thinking all day.
There is a weird life limbo you sit in when you want to be a mom. Relationships, time, thoughts, and effort all balance between where you are and where you crave to be. Every month the waiting game starts over and a new possibility arises as your cycle app reminds you that you’re ovulating. “But am I?” I ask myself, as my endometriosis diagnosis looms in the back of my mind. Either way, it’s a cycle of disappointment and hope that repeats itself every 21 – 28 days.
On one hand, there is a pressure not to overthink the subject. Let it happen naturally. Don’t be stressed. It’s only been five months. But on the other hand (and in reality), it’s all I think about. Diligent temperature checks in the morning, questioning myself as I shake up a marg for taco Tuesday, prenatals, pinterest boards, walking by the spare bedrooms… nearly every part of my day reminds me of my wanting and waiting.
Then there are the occasional times I question if I want to be a mom. The quiet mornings get me the most. Uninterrupted reading with hot coffee in hand, a curated spotify playlist in the background- all of which I know my mom friends fantasize (not so secretly) about. I love this time. I’m unapologetically selfish over this time. I’ve purposely created a life that revolves around these peaceful hours. And the thought of giving them up finds itself on one side of a scale being weighed against my longing for motherhood. It’s then that self doubt whispers in my ear that I don’t even deserve a little one of my own, and I tell myself that maybe it’s better this way.
Friends are a tricky subject too… one that I navigate on tip toes with more thought than I probably should. They assure me that my time will come, and I smile, but I only half believe them. They complain about their kids in all the ways a mom has the right to do, and while I want to be the girlfriend with a listening ear, I also ache to have their problems and have to say the “it will get betters” while thinking the “I wishes”.
My workouts make me question if I went too hard or if I’m putting my body under too much stress. My diet is a constant struggle as I balance between giving in to my love for cheese and the potential of eating for two. My conversations, my prayers, my planning, my purchases are all somewhat influenced by a pregnancy that may never come. “This could be cute with a baby belly” I dream as I click the ADD TO CART button. “Let’s hold on light fixtures in the spare bedroom” I suggested with the excuse of being indecisive, but really just wanting to wait until we’re decorating for a nursery.
Why does no one talk about this time? Why does it feel like I’m alone in this camp, sitting between those who get pregnant just by looking at a penis and those who have tried for years and years, maybe with a loss, or maybe not. I question if I’m justified in my feelings since we haven’t been trying that long, but that unspoken clock of fertility and viability ticks so. dang. loud.
Now don’t get me wrong… it’s not all doom and gloom over here. In fact, I’m loving these days as a family of two as we wake up to a kitty instead of crying or decide to go camping at the drop of a hat. And there’s something special about this time of imagining and anticipating. It’s exciting to blissfully and naively wonder about the role of parenthood and to have an entire life benchmark to look forward to. I’m growing and learning about who I am in this season and I can only hope that this will make me a better person, wife, friend… and mother.
I could honestly author an entire book about this messy yet magical middle, but I think my point has been made. I don’t write this for pity or well wishes. Maybe I’m hoping for prayers that this dream becomes a reality. Maybe I want to encourage moms to hug their babes a little tighter. Mostly, I want to bring a little more light to what this time feels like. No one really talks about it. Mainly, I want these thoughts to be recorded so that I can look back on them one day and know that my waiting and dreaming was worth it.
