"When I'm a parent, I'll..."

"When I'm a parent, I'll [fill in the blank]"

Every infertile has heard it before. In fact, we all probably used to say similar things ourselves, way back when. Before the harsh reality of where we are now jaded our lives and thinking. Before we could ever fathom an alternative.

This post was inspired by a friend of mine who does not have children, is unmarried, and isn't {to my knowledge} in any sort of serious relationship. She just posted a video of some parents doing something she thought was cool, with the tagline, "When I'm a parent, I'm totally doing this." Oh to have those kind of fleeting, optimistic thoughts about a future which includes children. *sigh* Sometimes I toy with the idea of taking a hiatus from Facebook. And Pinterest, for that matter. But I couldn't, I love staying in contact with everyone too much to let my {thankfully these days} infrequent bouts of sadness about being childless affect my social media connectivity. But the fact remains: many of my friends are parents. Currently, many of my female friends are pregnant. Some for the first time, others for subsequent times. And honestly, truthfully, I have gotten to the point where I am happy for them. Does my heart still ache? Yes. But I am happy for THEM. I still long to be a parent, and am saddened to now be haunted by an alternate reality: maybe, just maybe, I won't be. Or at the very least, the road that lies ahead will be a long and twisted one.

I yearn to have that naivete back - when I would see a cute baby outfit and think, "When I'm a mom, I'll dress my child like that," or if I saw a couple walking together, pushing a baby stroller, an image would flash through my mind of us doing that someday. And even when it got harder, after we realized we'd need treatments to even have a hope of getting pregnant, I'd still find myself thinking, "When I'm a mom, I'll..." But these days, I just don't know.

I'm 29. I know that's not old, especially by today's standards, but when you have PCOS, it's not exactly young either. And when you factor in how long it took to get pregnant the one and only time...and to know how it ended... We have chosen to take a break from the "journey to baby" while Jason is pursuing his doctorate, so by the time he graduates, we'll be 31. Will we be in a financial situation to pursue treatments again? I was told that I'd need IVF - not just by 1 doctor, but by 2 - and I can tell you that right now, we could not afford it. Not by a long shot. Will these next 2.5 yrs make a difference? Probably not, as Jason cannot work while he is a full-time doctoral candidate - his responsibilities are too time consuming and his schedule is all over the map time-wise.

And more importantly, will we be ready to board the emotional roller coaster that is baby-making (or the futile attempt of) when infertile 2.5 yrs down the pike? Again, right now, we are nowhere near there. The emotions and the memories of what we went through - the miscarriage, the years of disappointment, the loss of self, the challenges to our relationship- are just too raw.

I know what I hope for, and I know what I still dream about. I dream of our family, however it comes to be. I just wish I still had a bit of that innocence about me. But, maybe I shouldn't dwell on the past but rather, turn my sights on the future and not predetermine its outcome by allowing fear of the unknown to take over and cloud my vision, stifle my hope.

So for now, I choose to clutch on to the hope that is the future and see what it has in store for us as our story continues to unfold. I'll choose to think, "When I'm a mom, I'll be so very blessed."

Just when you think...

That moment when you're just cruisin' along through your Facebook newsfeed, minding your own business, enjoying your afternoon and WHAM! You realize another friend is pregnant.

That moment when you're reminded that you're not as okay with still being childless as you thought you were.

Just when you think you're finally doing better and the reality that you're still not a parent doesn't seem to ache as much as it used to, Facebook. Always Facebook. I make myself 'like' the picture. Because if I don't, I'm letting the sadness win. And I don't want to be that sad, bitter person. Not anymore.

Honestly, I'm much better now emotionally. We need to heal and focus on other things for awhile because we're quite simply worn out from it all. And, the longing isn't as debilitating as it once was. But it's still there - it always will be, how could it not? And when it creeps back up, it always hurts more than I expect it to.

So I close the screen, take a few deep breaths, and tell myself, "Someday. Someday."