It's a Saturday morning, and it's my birthday. And I wake up so excited to jump out of bed, because it's the day that I will hopefully get the best birthday present ever: the news that our next child is on his/her way. I bound out of bed, so much anticipation in every step. My cycle is seven days late, and with every fiber of my being, I expect to see a positive result.
I walk out, and I am crushed. Another month, another negative test. Infertility has won again. All I want to do is go back to bed, curl up, and forget. Forget what it's like to want children. Forget how much the negative tests hurt. Forget that infertility is a part of my life. I want to just stop this crazy rollercoaster ride of emotions and pretend like I don't care any more.
But I can't. It does hurt. I hate hoping and getting disappointed, over and over and over again.
And then the questions come.
"Do you want more children?"
"When are you having another one?"
"Don't you think Selah would like a brother or sister?"
I wish they knew how much the questions hurt. How much they remind me over and over of the pain that I am desperately trying to block out, trying to exist in spite of. I wish I could find some words that would make the questions stop, to somehow explain that they are some of the most difficult words anyone could ever say to me.
But I have no answers. I have no words to explain the deep pain in my heart - the hole that I cannot fill. And I am empty and broken and left wondering if things will ever change.
All I can do is hold on to hope that maybe, someday, things will be different. But for now, this is my reality.