After standing back and letting some time separate me and my myth submission blog entry, one thing became clear to me. I did not portay the full aspects of my pregnancy or even parenthood, most likely because in doing so, I might not have driven my points home in the way I intended. I wanted to illustrate to readers that my particular pregnancy experience did not happen after infertility but existed alongside it. I wanted to let people know that in the aftermath of treatment and loss, my pregnancy and subsequent parenting were not all puppy dogs and kittens and ice cream cones. That neither of them made infertility disappear. But at the expense of possibily stealing some of the drama that might have helped these points along, I can assure you that if any point in time in my life has ever been filled with the wonder and merriment of puppy dogs and kittens and ice cream cones, this has been it. Right where I am now.
That's not to say that I misled anyone. Everything I typed in that submission was real, but in the interest of persuasion, I made a few ommissions.
That is, this very moment, despite all its disasters, has made me the happiest I have ever been. The same was true for my pregnancy, in that despite all of the white-knuckling, heart-pounding moments I sat fearing the worst, the hope for the best still lived in me when I had thought it gone. Of course, that time was punctuated with anxiety, but that left for long enough periods of time where all was right in the world, when my dream was within perfect reach. And I can still smile to myself when remembering those moments and a warmth comes over me, one that I may never get back, but the memories are plenty.
And today, its even more so. My world sometimes feels like its crumbling down around me. Mr. S is still battling whatever it is he has, my Mother is in extremely poor health and difficult to deal with, my job has been pink slipped, medical bills are mounting, a chance at #2 is slipping farther and farther away, I can't keep up with the pace of life, and yet, my little boy's face, his sweet smile is more than enough balm to heal this open sore. I can forget everything outside my door when he runs to me after work, yelling, "Mama mama mama!"
If anything, my life now echoes prefectly what infertility often is for all of us: a roller coaster. Yes, there are heartbreaking lows, but its finding a way to focus on the highs that will keep us afloat. And let me tell you, I may be getting a headache from trying to focus this hard, but its better than losing my place.