We've been together a decade, but today is our seventh wedding anniversary. We have experienced triumphs and weathered storms together during these first seven years of our
marriage. Among the unforgettable: corporate jobs, a career change, the death of a parent, promotions,
international travel, a move across country, time to get to know each other, city life in Miami,
our first home, and now a breath of fresh air in rural Washington state. Life has been good to us and we
are grateful beyond measure. But on the occasion of this anniversary there is
still something I thought for sure we would have by now and have yet to
experience: a child.
From the time I can remember I planned to be a mother. I was the oldest of four girls and my childhood imagination included a faceless husband, who summered on Cape Cod, and a baby in my arms. I had never been to Cape Cod, but my dreams told me that was in my future. I noticed him first, but minutes after meeting JSM he proclaimed me “the future Mrs. McNally.” He was handsome, had a great smile, was quick with wit, and born 11 years and 1 day before me. I was shocked, but smitten. Imagine my disbelief when I went to his house and saw the clock magnet on his refrigerator that read “I’m on Cape time!” Our fate was sealed. We had a long distance relationship and spent weekends talking about our hopes and desires, planning our life, and dreaming of our future baby M. Three years later it was official: we were husband and wife.
A couple years into married life we were ready for a family although truthfully, we hadn’t really tried to prevent it. I figured it would happen when it happened….until it didn’t. You never think infertility will happen to you, but I was well aware of it happening to other people. Finally, one fall afternoon, in a beautifully decorated doctor’s office high above the city, after we watched largely pregnant women come and go, we became those people. Now, the business of having a baby included not our bedroom, but our bank account and a high dose of hormones. No, thank you. Many couples choose to conceive this way, but we always knew, even before we knew, that we didn’t want our child created in a laboratory. Infertility started as a WE problem, but more than two years on, it’s a ME problem.
Thankfully, infertility is no longer shameful or taboo and plenty of people talk about it (including me) but that doesn’t mean it is completely comfortable. I don’t have an answer when strangers and acquaintances ask me if I have children. A simple “no” feels cold and trite. More than that feels like I’m piling my burden on their shoulders, too. I can’t take another “I’m so sorry” or “Don’t worry, once you adopt you’ll get pregnant”. I would never choose adoption in order to increase my chances of pregnancy. Childless couples adopt in order to have a family. My well-meaning friends give me pep talks and JSM endures comments like, “Wow, man, aren’t you lucky?” I don’t think these men don’t love their children. I suspect they know how hard parenting is and envy us the freedom we have from sleepless nights and constant worry. Little do they know that we pay a high emotional price for that.
While there are some who understand the emotional toll I have silently endured, talking about it doesn’t take away the loneliness infertility brings. Behind my smile is a sadness I can’t seem to shake. I’ve watched friends get married and have babies since my first friend married in 1999. Her oldest child is now a teenager. Since I’ve been married, I’ve seen single friends marry and raise multiple children. Some days I still feel too young to have a child at all so I organize meal trains and host baby showers, never letting on that I cried just before the guests arrived. It’s not that I’m unhappy for their happiness. In fact, I am thrilled for every friend who has announced her pregnancy. How could I be angry with someone who has the one thing that could bring me the greatest joy? It’s just that every time I hear their good news, it magnifies my own loss. I always remind myself to be patient, my time will come, and within minutes I’m back to being myself. But I’m still waiting and wondering where I fit in.
As I enter my late thirties my clock is ticking louder and louder which some days causes my voice to rise higher and higher until I am yelling at JSM when all I really want to do is discuss our options. This is hard. Adoption feels right, but it isn’t an easy decision as my husband stares down the last year of his forties. It’s not exactly the optimal time to start a family as you are considering the next decades of mid-life. Then I am gripped by guilt because of my choice, my grief, and my inability to make a decision. So, instead I escape through work, novels, and with JSM, vacations in foreign countries. It doesn’t take away the hole in my heart, but I treasure all the opportunities for self-discovery. I wish I could say this self-discovery has helped me to develop an immunity to infertility, but it has not. It has opened up my preconceived notions about what it means to be an adult. I have begun to explore the many ways our life together could unfold and how we might include a young person. There are lots of ways to be involved in a child’s world and I am open to whatever life brings our way.
Life isn’t easy nor does it go exactly as planned. I didn’t plan to struggle with infertility or be angry at my husband for reasons beyond our control. I did; however, plan to love him and promised to spend the rest of my life with him, through sickness and in health, in times of plenty and in times of poor. Our wedding vows didn’t include “with children or without” but in my heart they did. I just didn’t know it at the time. I don’t know if the sadness of infertility ever goes away although I imagine it lessens as the years go by. What I do know is that my love for JSM deepens every year and on our seventh anniversary I am more grateful than ever that I have him by my side. Happy anniversary, JSM, I love you.
From the time I can remember I planned to be a mother. I was the oldest of four girls and my childhood imagination included a faceless husband, who summered on Cape Cod, and a baby in my arms. I had never been to Cape Cod, but my dreams told me that was in my future. I noticed him first, but minutes after meeting JSM he proclaimed me “the future Mrs. McNally.” He was handsome, had a great smile, was quick with wit, and born 11 years and 1 day before me. I was shocked, but smitten. Imagine my disbelief when I went to his house and saw the clock magnet on his refrigerator that read “I’m on Cape time!” Our fate was sealed. We had a long distance relationship and spent weekends talking about our hopes and desires, planning our life, and dreaming of our future baby M. Three years later it was official: we were husband and wife.
A couple years into married life we were ready for a family although truthfully, we hadn’t really tried to prevent it. I figured it would happen when it happened….until it didn’t. You never think infertility will happen to you, but I was well aware of it happening to other people. Finally, one fall afternoon, in a beautifully decorated doctor’s office high above the city, after we watched largely pregnant women come and go, we became those people. Now, the business of having a baby included not our bedroom, but our bank account and a high dose of hormones. No, thank you. Many couples choose to conceive this way, but we always knew, even before we knew, that we didn’t want our child created in a laboratory. Infertility started as a WE problem, but more than two years on, it’s a ME problem.
Thankfully, infertility is no longer shameful or taboo and plenty of people talk about it (including me) but that doesn’t mean it is completely comfortable. I don’t have an answer when strangers and acquaintances ask me if I have children. A simple “no” feels cold and trite. More than that feels like I’m piling my burden on their shoulders, too. I can’t take another “I’m so sorry” or “Don’t worry, once you adopt you’ll get pregnant”. I would never choose adoption in order to increase my chances of pregnancy. Childless couples adopt in order to have a family. My well-meaning friends give me pep talks and JSM endures comments like, “Wow, man, aren’t you lucky?” I don’t think these men don’t love their children. I suspect they know how hard parenting is and envy us the freedom we have from sleepless nights and constant worry. Little do they know that we pay a high emotional price for that.
While there are some who understand the emotional toll I have silently endured, talking about it doesn’t take away the loneliness infertility brings. Behind my smile is a sadness I can’t seem to shake. I’ve watched friends get married and have babies since my first friend married in 1999. Her oldest child is now a teenager. Since I’ve been married, I’ve seen single friends marry and raise multiple children. Some days I still feel too young to have a child at all so I organize meal trains and host baby showers, never letting on that I cried just before the guests arrived. It’s not that I’m unhappy for their happiness. In fact, I am thrilled for every friend who has announced her pregnancy. How could I be angry with someone who has the one thing that could bring me the greatest joy? It’s just that every time I hear their good news, it magnifies my own loss. I always remind myself to be patient, my time will come, and within minutes I’m back to being myself. But I’m still waiting and wondering where I fit in.
As I enter my late thirties my clock is ticking louder and louder which some days causes my voice to rise higher and higher until I am yelling at JSM when all I really want to do is discuss our options. This is hard. Adoption feels right, but it isn’t an easy decision as my husband stares down the last year of his forties. It’s not exactly the optimal time to start a family as you are considering the next decades of mid-life. Then I am gripped by guilt because of my choice, my grief, and my inability to make a decision. So, instead I escape through work, novels, and with JSM, vacations in foreign countries. It doesn’t take away the hole in my heart, but I treasure all the opportunities for self-discovery. I wish I could say this self-discovery has helped me to develop an immunity to infertility, but it has not. It has opened up my preconceived notions about what it means to be an adult. I have begun to explore the many ways our life together could unfold and how we might include a young person. There are lots of ways to be involved in a child’s world and I am open to whatever life brings our way.
Life isn’t easy nor does it go exactly as planned. I didn’t plan to struggle with infertility or be angry at my husband for reasons beyond our control. I did; however, plan to love him and promised to spend the rest of my life with him, through sickness and in health, in times of plenty and in times of poor. Our wedding vows didn’t include “with children or without” but in my heart they did. I just didn’t know it at the time. I don’t know if the sadness of infertility ever goes away although I imagine it lessens as the years go by. What I do know is that my love for JSM deepens every year and on our seventh anniversary I am more grateful than ever that I have him by my side. Happy anniversary, JSM, I love you.
XOXO
Oh Kimmy that was just beautiful. Please add "writer" to your resume of amazing things you have done and will continue doing. Just as you stated when you met JSM, you knew he was the one...I remember when I first met you at FSU I remember thinking immediately, she is my friend. Even though we are as far across the United States as two people could possibly be, you will always be my friend. Much love to you!
ReplyDeleteThank you for your courage in sharing your story, especially in this forum of Messy, Beautiful! If you were like me when I posted, I was scared to death! I see me in your story and am sending you strength in healing and happiness! Justine (www.everupward.org)
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