As a sophomore in college, I was the girl that had a life plan. I’d graduate, move down south, fall in love, get married, and start a family by twenty-five. I did all of the above, but not the way I had originally planned.
I graduated with a degree in communications, and fell in love with an amazing man from where I had lived my whole life, Michigan. I officially became a step mom at the age of twenty-six, although I was like a step mom to the boys a few years before I married their dad.
I have a loving husband, Ryan, step sons that light up my world, a wonderful church family, parents, grandparents, and a sister that are always by my side, amazing in-laws, a job that I love, and so much more. But I still feel as if something is missing.
I long to be called mom.
I want to hear my babies heartbeat, and stand in awe the first time I see him or her on an ultrasound. I want to paint a nursery pink or blue, or something gender neutral like grey. I want to be woken up at all hours of the night, and rock my baby back to sleep. I want to get up the next morning and look and feel like a zombie from the lack of sleep. I want to make bottles, and change dirty diapers. I want a little one with my big green eyes, or it’s dad’s big brown eyes running around my house, making a mess and watching The Wiggles. I want to make my youngest step son a big brother. He is such a loving, sweet boy and is going to make a wonderful big brother. Both boys are very anxious to have another sibling. I want to love and nurture my baby. I want to see him or her off to their first day of kindergarten, and cheer them on as they cross the stage to receive their high school diploma. I want to dance with my son at his wedding, and watch my husband walk our daughter down the aisle and give her away to the love of her life. I want to teach, and mold my children into becoming successful adults.
I want nothing more than to be pregnant. It feels like every week I log on to social media, and someone else is announcing their pregnancy. And it is not just Facebook and Instagram- it is everywhere. TV shows, celebrities, relatives, co-workers and friends. I see strangers walking in the grocery store, and can’t help but be a little bit jealous of their baby bump and glow. Baby showers are the absolute worst. You have to sit there and be happy for someone as they get to begin to experience everything that you have been praying, wishing and hoping for for months. I have been to three of them since Ryan and I started to try to conceive, almost two years ago.
I have been pretty open about our struggle. I have had some friends privately reach out to me who have been going through similar situations. It is nice to know that I am not alone, but at the same time, there are so many times that I feel absolutely alone. Ryan has been able to rely on his faith easier than I have. That is something that I am currently working on and praying about.
Ryan had a vasectomy after his second son was born. We had it successfully reversed in two-thousand-fourteen. We are now seeing a fertility specialist to see what the next steps will be, and how to get there. On top of the constant stress and the let down that I feel month after month, fertility treatments aren’t cheap. I have been working on finding ways to keep myself busy, and my mind off of wanting to have a baby.
Ryan has been so strong through all of this. He has been my rock. I can’t say for sure that we would be going through this if he hadn’t had the original vasectomy, but if we had, there is no one else I would rather go through this with. He has been patient and understanding, and has been there for me through all of my meltdowns.
I feel like maybe God has put me in this situation, so I can be there for other women who are going through similar situations. One in eight couples deal with infertility. We are that one in eight. And we are not alone.