The last three and a half years have been the hardest years I've ever been through. We've seen countless doctors, have been constantly monitored, and even had to had a few surgeries, but we are still waiting for you.
Some days I can picture what you might look like, the way you might play with Abby and become each other's lifetime friends. I picture how you might look like me, or maybe even your dad. I dream of holding you in my arms and kissing you as you sleep. I envision all the ways that we would love you and all the different things you might accomplish. I dream of a future for you, even though you are just a dream.
Some days I can picture you, but other days I can't. It seems that some days I just can't picture having you here with us. I can't find it in my mind, I can't find you. I feel like I'm wandering, hoping, pleading, searching for you. There are days when all I can do is remember the names we have picked out for you and the empty room we have saved for you.
Oh, that room. That room that we moved Abby out of when she was a year and a half to make room for you. The room that I had to repaint while in tears when we sold that first house. That room I said goodbye to you in so many times. That room I prayed in, fought in, craved in, and sometimes just sat silently in. That lonely room that I held onto so tightly, hoping that you would one day fill it, but that day didn't come in that house. Then that room became the "spare room" in the new house. I always dreamed it would be for you, keeping the crib set up, ready to receive you at anytime. But you didn't come. Other babies slept there, but not you. Other babies cried out for their mother's in that room, in that crib, but those cries weren't from you, and they weren't for me.
How many times did I sit there, stand there, or lie there? How many times did I shout out at God that it wasn't, isn't fair? How many times did I have to be alone?
With every pregnancy announcement, big brother or big sister announcement, baby shower, or birth announcement I cried. Well, at first I cried. Slowly, very slowly, through the years I stopped crying so much. It was no longer every announcement. It was now only some. But those that got to me, those that made me remember you, those were the ones that I cried for. It was a kind of cry that I couldn't hold back and that no one could console me. I just had to cry. Sometimes for a few minutes. Sometimes for days.
All I knew, all I know, is that with every injection, with every pill, ultrasound, blood test, surgery, and suppository, I would think to myself that if it would bring me you it would all be worth it. Every time we drained our bank account, or would be going through a hard time because the stress was too much. Every time, I would think, "This will all be worth it if it brings me my miracle baby, my dream." And every time it didn't work, every time I got worse, every time we felt like giving up on everything, every time, I just wanted to give up hope. I just wanted to stop. I wanted to stop hoping and crying. I wanted to stop being sad.
But every time, I couldn't. No matter how hard we tried to forget about you, we couldn't. Every time we said, "Enough!" It was never really over. Sometimes we would be able to take a break for a bit. Maybe a month or two would go by, and we would feel like we were getting back to normal, though we didn't know what normal was anymore. No matter how hard we tried to forget, we always remembered how much we wanted you.
Three and a half years. Three and a half years filled with failed medicated cycles, failed IUI's, failed "natural remedies." Three and a half years of living in a fog. Over 1200 days of going through life, just simply surviving.
Yes, there were good times. There were many days, weeks, even sometimes months, when we were able to laugh. We were able to put on a brave face and look life square and say "I've got this!" Most of it was just a brave face, but after faking it for so long, we didn't have to remind ourselves to put on our brave faces anymore. We found ourselves automatically putting on a smile, laughing, making plans, and having fun.
We laughed with Abby. We found joy in our present life. Though we always dreamed of you, especially in those moments that we found ourselves in a quiet room, sometimes, that room, we tried to find ways to still live. We went on vacations. We went on adventures. We started our own traditions and made a lot of changes.
Abby grew up. She was no longer a baby herself. She started going to school, and started leaving her daycare days behind her. She always asked why she couldn't have a baby brother or sister, like her friends and cousins, so we had to explain, as best we could, why you hadn't joined us. We didn't know if you would ever come. She constantly prayed for you too. Hoping that she would be a big sister soon. Hoping that she could hold you in her arms. Dreaming of teaching you all of her "wisdom", like how to say "mommy" and "I love you." And she knows that we have been praying and crying for you. She knows because she went to most of my appointments, and because she had to go through the aftermath of my surgeries and failed cycles.
This time we are hoping it's different. This time we know you were given life. Through all the hurdles, you survived this far. You beat out the other embryos, and you made it. I just hope your holding on tight in there. I hope your growing big and strong. I hope your healthy and that I will get to meet you in nine months. I hope you are our miracle baby.
Just hold on. Don't let go. Just, please, don't let go! I need you to be strong. I need you to hold on tight. I'm trying to be strong out here. I'm trying to hold on to the hope that I might get to meet you one day. I'm trying to be strong for everyone, but I need you to be strong. I can be strong for Abby, so that she doesn't get too sad. I can be strong for your daddy, so that he can not be stressed. But I can't be strong for you. Not yet. You have to be strong for me. You have to hold on, and be strong, so that I can be strong for you later.
I have no control over what's going on. It's you and God. Just you and God.
Please hold on. Please don't give up.
