Hope?

At what point do you just give up on Hope?

This is the week I would either get my period, or we’d have a positive test since our loss, and all of the emotions of trying and failing for the past three years to have a baby are even more intense.

Every time I get a negative test, a feeling of despair comes over me.

Feelings of

- Shame for not being able to give my husband a child or my parents a grandchild

- Jealousy of the women who got pregnant without even trying

- Hopelessness of ever becoming a mom

- Anger at God for not giving us or blessing us with the family we’ve prayed and been faithful for after all of these years

- Desperation for something/anything that could indicate I still have a chance

- Guilt for losing my first baby and not carrying to term

I think when you lose a baby or have a miscarriage, the layers of pain with infertility become even deeper. You go from a place of such high hopes when you see the positive test, to such low hopelessness when the bleeding starts.

But somehow, even after feeling all of these emotions, I still want to test every day. I know it will be negative in my head, but in my heart, there’s still this tiny flicker of hope. There’s still a super small chance that I could actually be a mom and hold a physical baby one day.

- A baby that has Ian’s eyes and my smile.

- A baby that both of our parents will cherish and spoil.

- A baby who can play with their nephews.

- A baby that I can stay up with all night or read to while they are crying.

- A baby whose heartbeat I can tangibly feel while they are lying on my chest.

- A rainbow baby that will be the answer to my prayers.

So I keep riding this roller coaster of emotions, waiting for my chance to one day step off this horrible road of twists and turns, ups and downs. Trying to process this season of life that we are in while holding onto any glimmer of hope I can find. But it’s hard, and I’m tired. And we’re only just beginning again.