When I was trying to get pregnant, there were six months of hoping and daydreaming about all the things that would happen. In my mind, everything was planned out and all I had to do was get pregnant.
Six months passed, and hopes of having an easy pregnancy were dashed. Four years of fertility treatments later, and it was just not meant to be.
I never lost hope, and most of the time I was optimistic. Of course, there were times that I felt like crawling under a rock so I wouldn't have to be witness to the world of baby strollers and swollen pregnant bellies. Our lifelines were my amazing network of friends and family who were always there at the worst of times when we needed an ear, a shoulder, a hug.
Regardless of my optimism, I never let myself think about paint colours for the nursery, or look at baby furniture, or change anything in the house that could be construed as 'a baby is about to come into the house'. I knew that letting my mind go there would devastate me if something happened and I could not get pregnant.
I am so happy that I stuck to this. I have read on online forums of hopeful mothers who have set up nurseries (diapers and all) before pregnancy, and I can't imagine having a furnished baby room in the house on the darkest days of infertility.
The only things I had that were baby related were some clothes that people have given me for when it was my turn to get pregnant.
When I received them, I was thankful for them. I went through and laundered the items that I thought needed laundering, tossed out the items that were too ratty to use, and sorted by gender and size. I may have had a box of Kleenex with me when I did this. It was during that first year of fertility treatments, when my body's failure was raw and emotional.
The stuffed animals that were in the bins were held and cuddled. I whispered to them that they would soon feel clutching baby fingers again.
Fast forward to now. The bins are gone from my attic. For every wonderful birth of children in my life, they have been gone through and offered. The rest have been donated, so that other toes can once again wriggle in tiny socks.
Empty baby clothes bins, empty room that would have been a nursery, empty womb.
I am scared. Dare I let myself go down that path that motherhood is around the corner? Can I start doing what any parent does when they are expecting their little one? What if it will be another four years of waiting, or five, or six, or never?
As always, things are not in my control. I am at the whim of an unknown chain of events that may result in the most precious of gifts.
Now more than ever, I am ready to take the leap of faith that it will be WHEN and not IF. I am brushing all my fears aside and preparing to have my child come home.Scary. Exhilarating.
Little one, if you're out there already, we are getting ready for you.
