April Buske

What a difference a year can make. 

This time last year, I was in the middle of the terrible two-week wait.

I had so many terrible two-week waits while we were trying to conceive.  It seemed like every month, the 14th day would roll by and then it was the endless waiting to see whether our natural cycle, medicated cycle, or IUI had worked out. It was this painful mix of being so incredibly hopeful that **THIS** would be the cycle that we would be pregnant and the hardening of my heart so that I wouldn’t become TOO hopeful and be devastated. I never did figure out how to navigate that balance well.  It was always devastating each time, and after four years of trying, it never got easier.

In fact, the waiting got harder and harder. I struggled with God, why would I have such a strong desire to be a mom and why wasn’t He giving me what I wanted. The one thing that would fulfill that desire.

But, a year ago, the two-week wait was different. We did a fresh transfer on November 13th and were waiting for Black Friday. Which, if you lived near us, you may recall, that our sweet Iowa weather dumped more than a foot of snow on us that morning. So when Black Friday morning arrived, I shoveled for an hour before leaving for the lab to get blood drawn. I drove, ever so slowly, on my way into town. Both excited and steeled, hopeful and prepared for disappointment.  After the blood draw, I patiently waited for my doctor’s office to call. That wait was excruciating:  the running to my phone each time it beeped, buzzed, booped, or shook.  But then there it was, the call I was waiting for. A deep breath and an answer. This time, we were finally pregnant. It didn’t feel real. At. All.

It felt like a dream. 

But then it didn’t feel like a dream anymore. I saw the heartbeat fluttering on an ultrasound screen. Then at our next appointment, I got to hear the heartbeat. Then, I felt baby move. Then, I could SEE baby move. Then I grew so large I was uncomfortable. It was finally happening. I was so excited. We had some obstacles when gestational diabetes was thrown into the mix, but I worked hard, took it with stride, and waited anxiously for our sweet little one to arrive. It was real. I wasn’t imagining it at all.

Then, came labor.  This is not the post to go into my labor–I’ll save that for another entry.

The moment we’d been waiting for so, so long finally happened. I remember that final push, doing everything I could do birth our baby. The still silence, the first cry of a sweet new baby and my husband getting to shout “It’s a Girl!” (which, hands-down is the best part of waiting to find out what you’re having!)

Now, we have the sweetest, most vocal, giggliest, blow-out pooping, sixteen-week baby girl.  Every single shot, every single negative test, it was all absolutely worth it to become a mom.

I sometimes have to pinch myself to remember this is real. Other times, (like 2 am) when baby girl is nursing and I’m exhausted, I know that it certainly is real.

What a difference a year can make. 

I have to remind myself that I’m one of the lucky ones. There are so many men and women out there who struggle with infertility. Not all of them get to become parents. Some become parents through adoption or fostering, through mentoring or volunteering, some do cycle after cycle of fertility treatments and never get that joyous phone call or pregnancy test.  It sucks. It beyond sucks.  There aren’t words for the hurt. And we don’t talk about it much or enough.

I want you to know, no matter where you are on your journey, you can always talk about it with me. I’ll brew the coffee or tea or hot chocolate. I’ll have the tissues and a shoulder to cry on. I’ll be your cheerleader and fellow wallower. We can talk about all the shots or trying all the wives-tales.  Or we can just sit together without words knowing that we have each other’s backs.