I'm going to be incredibly honest and personal in this post, and my purpose isn't to offend anyone, so if you become offended, please don't point your finger at me.
A few months after Corey and I were married, we decided we wanted to make an addition to our family. I'm not quite certain how much money I spent on take-home pregnancy tests and doctors visits, but to no avail, all came out negative. I'll never forget each moment my excitement was quickly stolen by the single vertical line on each test I took every month for one year.
Frankly, we gave up. Our determination to grow our family was shattered by the notion that perhaps we couldn't have children--at least right now. To elaborate, my patriarchal blessing tells me that I'll give birth in this life--but to rely on modern technology and medical advances as I develop a baby within my body.
What could that mean? Before fighting this battle with my husband, I was under the impression that maybe I'd just need some extra medication during my pregnancies, but after having tried to conceive for a year, that thought changed.
I began to get jealous of those who seemed to have pregnancy come easily to them. I scrolled through Facebook to see friends who had just gotten married post their first ultrasound. It wasn't fair!
I cried. A lot. I told myself and my husband every time I'd take a test that I wouldn't be upset at the outcome if it were negative--but I lied, every time.
Shockingly, in October, less than two months after my brother died, I went in for a doctor's visit because I thought I had some infection--but had already given up on asking for a pregnancy test during my visits--only to find out that I was pregnant.
I didn't want to believe the doctor when he told me. I didn't want to get my hopes up for them just to be stripped away days later.
This is where I'll get extremely emotional.
Days before this miracle laid itself in our laps, I had vented to my mom about how jealous I was of my siblings who had children to bring them joy in the midst of their despair when all I had were textbooks and a desk at work.
My husband's a wonderful man--and he does make me happy. I'm definitely not discounting the peace he has brought to my life during this tragedy. But there's something about holding a child in your arms that brings you peace, knowing they are closer to the veil than you are.
I count this pregnancy as nothing short of a miracle from God--almost like a gift from my brother beyond the veil to my husband and me through God Himself--as if Christian was rooting for Corey and me, begging the Lord to let us have this one little joy in the middle of our pain.
I can't bring myself to boast about this pregnancy--broadcasting it from every corner--when I know where I have been in terms of trying to conceive and in what circumstance this little miracle came to be.
Fight me if you want, but I feel this ball of sunshine Corey and I created comes from far more than biology working together for our benefit.
I call bull if anyone tells me the timing of this pregnancy was merely a coincidence, and we were just finally successful in conceiving. I just do.
There's my story for you, but let me pull this all together and make sense of the title.
Let's take a step back to the beginning of our story: jealousy, pain.
Finding the opposite of success in trying to increase your numbers brings a lot of emotional discomfort, and provokes much jealousy when someone's posting constantly about their pregnancy.
I'm definitely not saying that it's wrong of you to share your excitement with the world, but as far as I'm concerned, I choose to stay more private than public when it comes to this baby--especially because of the circumstances which are rather special.
To expectant mothers and fathers, please be mindful of those on your feed who may be struggling, or incapable of conceiving children of their own. Try to refrain from being braggy as you share your journey with your friends.
The way you document your pregnancy is completely and utterly up to you, and I'm not here to tell you to keep your excitement to yourself, but all I am saying is this: be mindful, and be caring.
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