Dear Baby,
I want to talk to you for a bit about strength, and what it means to be strong.
Throughout this entire journey, my friends and family have always admired “my strength” or told me to “be strong” and honestly, I haven’t had the slightest idea what they were talking about. I’ve never imagined myself as a strong person. Over the last several years, I’ve cursed and I’ve cried; I’ve felt helpless and alone, and I’ve had this crazy idea that the world was swallowing me whole. I’ve never associated those characteristics with that of a strong person.
I regarded myself as weak; an impuissant shell of who I once was, and I would cringe when others called me anything other than an unmitigated disaster. It seemed so hypocritical to acknowledge the strength others saw in me, because I couldn’t see what they were talking about. I felt like a fraud, and I hated myself for that.
But recently, I had a long talk with someone about you. About how the closer we get to a transfer, the more terrified I am about failure. About how I don’t have a plan if this fails. Not a plan for our next steps in the process; that’s simple. I don’t have a plan for my life. If this doesn’t work, I don’t know how I’ll move on.
Because this is it. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself if this fails again. I honestly don’t know how I’ll survive another loss, and that makes me feel so weak and broken.
So she and I started talking about strength, and about how having doubts and fears and experiencing sadness isn’t a sign of weakness. We’re all human, and just by existing, we are faced with a wide range of emotions all the time, and it’s how we deal with those thoughts and feelings that define us.
This was a foreign concept to me. I thought I was weak, because I often cry for you, and my heart is broken, and I don’t feel whole. But she made me see this isn’t all that I am, and it’s really changed my entire way of thinking.
Yes, there are some days I feel like I can’t go on. But I do.
There are some days I miss you so much that I don’t want to get out of bed. But I do.
There are some days when I must surrender to the thoughts in my head, and I cry until I can’t catch my breath. But then…I do. And I dry my tears, blow my nose, change out my gunked-up contacts for a fresh pair, and I move on.
She helped me realize that THIS is strength. The actions I take when I feel so lost and hopeless are what define me. And for the first time in this eleven year journey – I feel strong enough to find you.
I feel strong when I get out of bed and make a cup of (now decaffeinated) coffee. I feel strong when I get dressed and head in to work. I feel strong when I’m at work, and I’m performing at my best and getting projects finished.
I’m strong when I go to birthday parties and brunches with my friends instead of drowning in my own fears. I’m strong when I clean my house and cook dinner, or when I bake and decorate those cupcakes that my friends and coworkers rave about. And I’m strong when I put on my gym clothes and work out, even though that little voice in my head just wants me to sit on the couch with a glass of wine and feel sorry for myself.
This has changed my entire philosophy, Baby. I don’t feel weak anymore. I never realized the strength there was in determination.
Because that’s it – all these years I’ve been determined to find you. I’ve been hurt and broken down and defeated time and time again, but I’ve gotten back up and moved on – and now I feel so proud of how far I’ve come.
Eleven years is an incredibly long time to go through hell, and I see now that I could have let it beat me. I could have given up at any time. After the miscarriages, after the IUIs, after the first or second IVF. But I didn’t. I’ve lost every single battle along the way, Baby, but I know now that I’m going to win this war. Because I’m strong.
I. Am. Strong. It feels so good to finally believe that.
I don’t know if this transfer is going to work. There are a thousand little steps we must take before I get a positive beta or before I hear your heartbeat. Before I feel you move inside me. And then, there are a thousand more before your daddy and I get to hold you for the first time. But I’m facing those steps head on, and I won’t let them defeat me.
Yes, I’m sure it’ll crush me if it doesn’t work. And yes, I’m terrified that it won’t. I’m terrified that it’ll never work; that something will always come along and push the finish line, like it has time and time again. Sometimes – a lot of the time, actually – I have difficulty seeing a future with you in it.
But I will never stop looking for you. I will never give up, and now for the first time I see the strength in my own determination. If this transfer doesn’t work, I will pick myself up, dry my tears, and move on. It’ll be a devastating blow, but I’ll get through it. Because I am strong.
We’ll try another transfer until we’re out of donor eggs. If none of them take, we’ll find donor embryos. If those don’t work, we’ll move on to foster care or adoption. We will find you. I am determined to find you. I am strong enough to find you.
My all-time favorite television show is The West Wing, a political drama that focused around a democratic President Bartlet. After every cabinet meeting, after every hostage negotiation or assassination attempt, after every victory or defeat, Bartlet would take a deep breath, collect himself, and ask, “Okay. What’s next?”
I always admired his strength and determination, and couldn’t see how he was able to carry on, other than the fact that he was a fictional character in a fake, albeit well written, storyline. It’s funny now, looking back over these past eleven years, to see that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.
What’s next? OPKs and changing doctors. What’s next? Insemination, then IVF. What’s next? Human Growth Hormone and acupuncture. What’s next? Donor eggs.
There will always be a “what’s next?”.
This will not defeat me. You make me strong, Baby. It’s been your face that has kept me going all these years. My strength comes from you and from Jesus, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to acknowledge that. I couldn’t have done this on my own. You’ve been with me every step of the way, and you’ve given me strength I didn’t know I had. I can’t wait to pay you back a thousand fold, and be the best damn mother to you. Because I know now that I can. And I will.
Love you so much,
Mom
My Stork Got Lost 