Our fear of infertility

In one longwinded, run-on sentence text to my best friend I detailed the potential timeline for Brandon and I getting pregnant with Baby #2. No detail had gone overlooked. Not a single one; trust me.

From the three month span of our potential trying-to-conceive time to the spacial planning between other national holidays, birthdays and anniversaries {& football season}. This was it:  pregnancy planning. Something I've never done before.

Medical science was said to be essentially the only way I'd have a biological child. At least, that's what the doctor said when I was just 18. As the years passed, this fact soaked further into my soul, enabling the greatest fear we have as women.

Infertility. 

For years, I convinced myself motherhood was not for me. I just wasn't born for it, clearly. And then, at the ripe age of 22, God stepped in and swiped away that fear in one manic meeting at a walk-in clinic. That stomach bug? Yeah, not so much.

While the miraculous manner in which Jackson became a little being reaffirms my faith, I find myself wavering on the brink of Baby #2. And that brink is no small matter.

Baby fever has certainly not stopped me from dreaming of adding one more baby to our family. We have gone back and forth for months regarding budgets, timing and whether or not it's what's best for our family. The debate continues; however, it's clear where our hearts lie.

Our friends and family are set on: if you've got one then what's two? 

For them, two is an exciting addition, another little to spoil. For me though? It's an intimidating journey, one which may not be as miraculous as the first.What if it's not as easy? What if pregnancy doesn't just happen? What if the infertility the doctor's predicted the first time becomes our reality this time?

Infertility: what if it's meant to be part of our story?

For months, I've kept this sliver of fear close to my heart. That is, until Brandon said in conversation: what if it doesn't just happen? There it was; he has thought it too. He knows this fear of mine; he sees the potential blessing and just the same, the potential tribulations.

We cannot know for certain what lies ahead, and that terrifies me to the core.

Infertility is synonymous with depression, in my book. A harsh statement, I know, but it's the truth that's burned into my heart. Over the last four years, we've managed to see me out of my darkest and into my brightest. I fear if we pursue another child, infertility may be in store. My emotions? They.Can't.Handle.It. 

And now, I know Brandon can sense this fear himself. Sure, he'd probably say this post is out of proportion to his comment that day. Typical man. But I know it's more. I know budgets and patience set aside he too has this fear of infertility, and rightfully so.

I've supported others through battles of infertility, praying restlessly through their journey. And, if infertility becomes part of our story, I will have to forgive this part of myself, this part of our story. An act that is so much easier said than done in the preceding sentence. It's something I have a hard time wrapping my head around. So, I bury this fear of infertility in the miracle that is our first child; our greatest blessing and beacon of my faith.


*linking up with Amanda to share the message of National Infertility Awareness Week. Find more information about NIAW here.