In a box tucked away in one of our closets is a box of baby clothes with all their tags attached. For the past few years, I have carefully chosen a few pieces here and there that I loved. I don't buy every single thing I see that I want to buy, but there are a few things that have caught my eye that I just knew I would regret not buying. I've bought boy and girl clothes, blankets, and even a few random things, like a Flamingo car seat cover and a set of toddler dishes. I collect children's books everywhere we go, and I have more nautical/beach/tropical themed fabric than I even know what to do with. For a really long time, these things brought me comfort. Buying something little here and there helped me to keep the faith and belief that, someday, we would be parents. When I first started to buy things, nearly 5 years ago, I thought surely, a year from now we'll have kids. And then a year later, I thought there is no way we won't have a baby a year from now. And each year those thoughts slowly dwindled. Brandon always struggled with buying things for babies we didn't have, and I never understood that. But now I do. I remember the exact night I packed the box of clothes in the photo below. I was sitting alone on the bed in our rental house in Washington. My mom and Holden had left earlier in the day and I was trying to get things cleaned up and organized for Brandon's arrival home and for our quickly approaching move. As I pulled the pieces out and folded them and put them into a different box, I sobbed. I finally understood why Brandon didn't want to buy baby things. Because now, that hope and faith of having kids of our own is a question. I haven't bought baby items for months now. This is infertility.
Recently, I've watched a lot of friends and family get pregnant and have babies. It's the strangest thing to experience. I feel so much joy and excitement for those who are starting their families, especially when it's someone close to me. I can't wait to snuggle their babies, to watch them grow, and to buy all the baby things for them. But it hurts so much. And it's hard, because I am not angry or sad because of them, or at them. I'm not upset because they're pregnant, I'm sad because I'm not. I think that's the hardest thing to express, because I don't ever want anyone to feel like I am not happy for them or like they should tiptoe around me and my feelings. I'm excited for those who are able to have babies, and I want nothing more than to be able to share their excitement and love. But there might be moments I just need to be sad. It's just important for those around me to remember it has absolutely nothing to do with them. It's the most confusing thing to be so excited, but so sad at the same time. This is infertility.
I LOVE babies. From the time I was little I have absolutely loved babies and little kids. I couldn't wait to have my own! But now, everywhere little kids are, it's hard to be. I love going to family parties and seeing all the cute kids, but there are moments that I find myself sitting, surrounding by love and laughter and the most important people in my life, stuck in my sadness for just a few moments. I sit and wonder when that will be me, when I will be able to experience my kids running around causing trouble with their cousins, or taking a nap with my cute grandpa. Will I have kids soon enough so that they will be able to spend that time with my grandparents? Church is hard. One of the biggest parts of our church is eternal families, and having kids. Every time we move to a new ward, the question of "When are you having kids?" or "No kids yet?" comes up about a million times. The first few times I went back to my home ward in Utah, it was the same question. Now when I go home, it's "How many kids do you have now?", and they're shocked when the answer is none. It's so hard to find the right words to tell people why we don't have kids yet. I don't want a calling in the nursery or the primary, because it's just too hard. Despite my love for little kids, sometimes the sadness and frustration at our situation is too much for me. Yet, when it comes to close friends and family, even though sometimes I ache for what they have, their babies bring me so much joy! I find myself very lucky to have family and a few close friends with babies who I am able to love and spoil until I have my own. Those babies tend to fill a hole in my heart, even though sometimes they're a reminder of what I don't have.This is infertility.
I'm realizing this post is kind of all over the place. My thoughts are kind of scattered on this topic, and it's sometimes difficult to put my feelings into words. I don't want people to feel bad for me. I don't want people to tiptoe around me, or to avoid talking to me about infertility or their babies or their struggles just because we haven't been able to start our family yet. I want to be there for every moment, and I want you to share your excitement, your happiness, and your difficult days with me. And most importantly, I want you to know that if I need a moment to be sad, or angry, or downright miserable, it has absolutely nothing to do with you, and it certainly doesn't take away from the excitement and happiness I feel for you.
Love, Harmonie
