I remember the pain like it was yesterday. I remember the tears that wouldn’t stop, the emptiness that filled my arms, the loneliness that filled my heart.
But when I cried, I cried not only out of longing, but out of guilt.
Guilt that I knew there were others who were struggling more than I. That there were those who had been trying to bring a baby into this world for years, or those who had lost one (or multiple) pregnancies, or those who were exhausting all their worldly options to bring that one baby home. I felt guilty that I felt this pain at only 6 months into our journey.
But I wanted it so bad, and I had since I was a little girl. I wanted the hard days, the sleepless nights, the sticky fingers, the slobbery kisses, I wanted it all.
And then, I cried again, 12 months into our journey, but this time out of joy, and again, out of guilt. I cried because I was elated that there was a life growing inside me, that my prayers had been answered. But again, I cried because of that guilt. Why me? Why not her?
Now I’m here, on the other side of the bridge, pregnant with my second little. The one whose quick conception took us by surprise. And now, when I look back at that wait, I realize that everything happens for a reason. A lot happened in those 12 months of waiting and wanting. I worked 45 hour s a week while Kyle went to full-time grad school and worked part-time. We both lost our jobs one month before his graduation because the company we worked for had to shut their doors. We were basically unemployed for 4 months as Kyle searched for jobs. We moved across the state. And then, 2 weeks after that move, we received the news that we were expecting. I was pregnant. And it all came together. The pieces fell into place. I could see God’s hand and His timing, and I could see what I had needed to learn.
Patience.
Trust.
Faith.
But just because I’m on the other side doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the hurt, the pain. My heart breaks, aches, reaches out to anyone who is experience the wait. Whether it be 6 months or 6 years, I feel for you. I can’t tell you what you need to learn (if anything), I can’t tell you that it will all be ok, and I certainly won’t tell you to give up or to just relax.
But I will tell you to keep praying, keep trying, keep trusting in God.
One day, be it closer than you think or further than you could have ever imagined, it will all make sense. Your pieces will come together. And the picture will be marvelous.
Wife to Kyle, and momma to Abe, Eliza and Jonah. I'm a stay-at-home momma by day, and a blogger by naptime. I graduated from BYU with a degree in Human Development, and I love to read more than anything. I love my Savior, and sharing His love for others is my greatest passion.
