i have been thinking about this for months,
perhaps longer.
in fact, i wrote this post long ago, and when i found it, it was when it was oh so relevant again.
the thing is,
i know quite a few people who deal with the devastating trial of infertility.
and the hardest part of being on the other side of that coin is that were i able to say or do anything to help, believe me, i would.
just a week or so after discovering i was pregnant with my second baby,
i read a post of a dear friend who had until then been very quiet about her infertility.
i wept and wept.
i prayed to know if there was anything to say to her.
if something needed to be said in the first place.
and if there was, should it come from me,
from whom she would soon find out was carrying another baby…
i thought of another friend who now has a baby {via IVF}
who had devoted an entire post of what NOT to say to someone in this situation.
i was sure i hadn’t said anything i shouldn’t have… but now i was worried. what if i did?
i carefully studied my words, even checking a thesaurus to know if it could be taken any other way.
the last thing i wanted, was to push a button.
what if, due to my attempting to help and comfort,
i said the exact wrong thing she needed to hear.
what if, in my lack of infertility,
i added a few hundred tears to someone because i thought i was helping.
i’m sure part of my fear and emotional connection to this was due to hormones at the time…
but it’s something that i have fears about as a people person with anxiety and all of the articles i see.
“10 things you shouldn’t say to ______ people” or “10 things you should never say to people dealing with _______”
these are conversations i hope you have with the people that you care about. right then.
in real life. kindly tell them that what they said caused you anxiety, anger, stress, and let them know what you’d RATHER they say. or just remember that they love you, and don’t intend to hurt you.
it was only a handful of months to get pregnant for me the second time around,
but each month i sat with that pee stick in hand with a pit in my stomach
and a handful of tears, regretting the choice to try and surprise my husband to get pregnant.
i felt alone and nervous. yet nothing, like these women go through. but for months and years for some.
which only makes me weep harder when i read them.
when i read the heartfelt, most sincere words of my friends,
i want to show up at the door and say, i will!
i will carry a baby for you!
i will fundraise so we can grow one,
or not ever talk about my kid in front of you,
if that helps make it even the slightest bit easier for you.
but i’m sure it doesn’t.
and until a miracle happens,
i’m not sure what does.
and with all of the crap going on in the world, and everyone offended by everything they read or see,
i will just continue to do what i can to support friends and family who are going through hard things.
i might not say the right things, but it doesn’t mean your hard things don’t matter to me.
dear moms {and i say moms, cause i believe you will be some day, and you ARE already to someone},
i think about you.
i pray for you
i spend hours pouring over your well-constructed words as you share your stories.
and i want you to know that we moms with kids love you.
and appreciate that you are still friends with us. {even if we are unknowingly insensitive.}
that you will share the most intimate and painful moments with us,
so we can better understand.
and know how to love you more.
we see you, and we hear you.
