My body wakes up on its own, in the middle of the night, every night that I trudge through the two week wait.
My body is exhausted, but my mind won’t comply.
All I want to do is sleep. But instead, I have researched every potential symptom I have to see if I’m pregnant, while already playing out the scariest moments of my potential pregnancy, as well as replaying the scene of finding out I’m not pregnant, all over again.
I hear my rainbow, my sweet soul of a daughter, tell me she wants a baby sister. My heart aches for her, because it’s the thing I most want to give her right now- a living sibling.
She walks a few feet ahead of me, alone. Many other kids play with their siblings, they hold each other’s hand. She notices. She understands she doesn’t have one to hold onto.
I go through all the questions.
What if I would have listened to what his movements were telling me?
What if someone would have figured out that things weren’t okay in there?
Why can some people have so many children and so easily?
What if he were here, with her?
I try to remember.
This is my story. No one else’s. Their experience is not my experience.
This is my life, and I can either get up and keep walking, or decide that today is the day I will pull the covers over my head, curl up in a ball, and cry if I need to.
As we near the end of our TTC journey, I face the reality that this could be it for us. I stay hopeful for that positive test, and for a living, healthy baby in my arms before the end of the year- but I also remember where we have been, and that things just sometimes aren’t that easy.
Either way, in the end, I’m going to be okay. On the harder days, I’ll pick myself up off the floor. On the days I can’t, the floor will be enough to hold me up. And maybe the next day, I’ll get back on my feet again.