The Hardships of Conceiving

I had a dream right before I woke up that it was negative.

When my alarm went off, I hit snooze.  Not because I needed more sleep, but because I knew what was coming.

By the time I got my feet on the floor, I was in the middle of a panic attack at five am.

My chest tighten.

My breath shortened.

My entire body tensed.

I knew the only way to start to ease this was to take the test.  I have to accept the result either way.  The only relief would come when I knew and could move on from there.  But I already knew.  My dream told me.

We've been trying to get pregnant since January.  It's a little hard to use the second person pronoun here.  Yes, my husband is one hundred precent in this with me, but the strain and stress is wearing on me differently.

This really has never been an easy process for us.  Before I got pregnant with Mila, I had three miscarriages.  By the time I did finally get pregnant with her, I had been pregnant four times in twelve months.  Most women never have that many pregnancies in a lifetime.

As we try for the fifth pregnancy for a second child, I am constantly haunted by the same feelings every month.  I am reminded of what I went through for the twelve month period in trying to conceive Mila.  I guess I thought it would be different with the second child.  I thought I would be used to this by now.  I thought I knew what to expect.  But these feelings still overwhelm me every month.

The feeling of failure:  Yes, I know intellectually, that is nowhere near accurate, but emotionally, it is absolutely correct.  Each month, I fail to get pregnant. I fail to be a mom of two kids.  I fail to do what I need to make my body ready.

The feeling of grief: I mourn the child I was going to have that month.  I had subconsciously planned the arrival of this sweet miracle.  I grieve the life I had dreamed would be.

The feeling of loneliness:  Multiple times a day, I think about being pregnant.  I ruminate on the idea.  When I wake up.  When I see a woman who is pregnant.  When I put Mila down at night.  When I fall asleep.  When I dream.  And all of this reminds me that I am not.

Right now, I can take deep breaths.  I can hug my sweet girl a little tighter.  I can remember to have faith.