Waxing Philisophical

The other day, a colleague and friend of mine commented how she will never forget how confident I looked with Will when I took him up to school at eleven days old. I was a little flattered and more than a little flummoxed. Motherhood is natural to me. I have always wanted children. Even when I was a young child, I knew I wanted to be a mother. The cruel irony was never lost on me that I, who always wanted children, suffered from infertility for years . It seemed that everyone around me was getting to realize the dream I had held so dear for so long. I know more than one person who met her future spouse, began dating, got engaged, got married, and had not one, but TWO children in the nearly five years Rolf and I tried to get pregnant (starting in our fourth year of marriage). I suppose that waiting for so long helped make us immune to the nerves of first-time parents. I never felt nervous about any of it (okay, finances, maybe), and I'm pretty sure Rolf is the same way. He never had that "Oh-my-God-I'm-going-to-break-the-baby" new dad moment. He was a natural from minute one. I've never seen him prouder. I feel that our instincts are right. I thought I would panic the first day Rolf headed back to work and left me alone all day with a nine-day-old baby, but nothing seemed more natural. I haven't worried about any decision since.

Will has completed my life. He is the most precious thing in the world. Knowing I have him is the thing that makes me happiest, but the scars of infertility will never heal. I sympathize and empathize with all people who are facing the struggle. According to statistics, one in six couples experiences infertility. Considering there are so many who suffer, it is one of the loneliest afflictions one can live through. There is still a taboo on infertility. Many people seem to think that if they cannot reproduce the old-fashioned way, they are less of a man or woman. I know I went through many months of sobbing into Rolf's shoulder that I was "broken" because I couldn't get pregnant. It's a vicious cycle of hope that gets crushed and grief that turns to false hope again before the grief is fully dealt with. No wonder so many people become depressed.

I find that being open about our struggles makes people a little more educated, a little less likely to tell me silly things like "you'd better cherish these moments now because he'll be running around before you know it." Strangers say that to me, and I just smile and respond with a, "Oh, I do." Not one of my friends or acquaintances has said that to me because they know how much I cherish each moment with Will, just as I cherished each moment of pregnancy. I embraced the morning sickness because I knew it meant he had definitely taken hold in there after an early miscarriage scare. I wish I had looked more pregnant because I know that this could potentially be the one and only time we get to experience this miracle. I hope with all my heart that it isn't, but we are content to have just Will if lightning doesn't strike twice.