The kids run, they play, they laugh. I watch, I listen, I giggle.
Inside, I wonder: Will they be it for me? Is my body done?
I have no way to know. No fortune-teller reading my palm and telling me, with an honest conviction, what my future holds–kid, kids, and more kids.
My womb, it’s empty. My heart, it’s aching.
Have I tempted fate too much? When is too much? Two children, three miscarriages, what now? Do I stop? Do I wait? Do I hope?
Prayer. Sometimes I wish I could rely on God, but He has let me down. Too often. With the idea that if I do as He asks, certain blessings will follow. I did–still do–but I know the truth and can no longer be fooled. It is much easier to believe in a higher power in the Universe than to believe in a God that allows so much pain and hurt–not just in my life, in those around me, in those women and men’s lives that I don’t know around the world. The suffering of the children from hunger, abandonment, rape, and so much more.
I prayed my heart out. I had blessings–several. All pointed to something I thought I heard: I was doing the right thing and would soon be holding a healthy baby.
Wrong. Three times over.
But, in my heart, I want a baby–babies–still. The chaos, the messes, the crazy days are what I crave. I am in a better place, much more mentally and emotionally stable; however, when does it become over-kill (excuse the unintentional pun)? When does one stop? Miscarriages, pregnancies, all these things are not easy–on the body or the psyche. Is it worth it to drive me to the brink of insanity, a place in which I am teetering on the edge already?
A fortune-teller. That is what I need. With other things in my life–employment, school, and growing–I have at least a basic outline. I know things can change, on a whim, but those changes will be relatively expected. I do not know, unfortunately, what our family size will be; it is unrealistic, and a bit silly, to expect that I, of all the infertile women, will have the gift of a healthy pregnancy soon. See, there is a possibility that I will, but there is a possibility that I won’t. And that is the truth, a place I would rather be than to misplace my expectations on a slim chance. I mean, I did tell myself that if I had a third miscarriage, I would not try anymore because the pain would be too intense for me to try again.
This is where I wish I could be okay with my two kids. I am happy with them, overjoyed that they are in our family; however, I can’t shake the feeling that there is an empty space, empty spaces, that need filled. I want it to go away, beg that it will go away. Instead, I remember my dreams, my hopes, my desires, and those memories refuse to desist in haunting me.
Possibilities in life are endless, but sometimes I wish I could just know the outcome for one thing.