Gifts for Dad ➔

I know you feel so alone and wonder why this is happening to you. I know your loneliness and can hear your cries in the middle of the night. I understand the pang of jealousy as your friend tells you that she’s pregnant. I feel your annoyance as yet another person tells you that “it will happen when it’s meant to.” 

I know all of these things because I once stood in your shoes. I was a woman that longed for a baby.

I heard all of the advice and ideas from others…

Have you tried this position?

Are you tracking your cycle?

You can’t think about it too much or it won’t happen.

You name it and I had heard it. For people that have never struggled with infertility, they sure have a lot of advice don’t they? Probably the worst was when I had to explain the ins and outs of my reproductive health and sex life to people I barely knew. The know-it-alls that act like their insight will be the game changing piece of fertility advice that will finally get you pregnant. Please!

I know what it feels like to be obsessed with conceiving. To visualize what your life would look like with a baby. To pick out baby names for your nonexistent child. To track and chart and map out almost to the hour when your most fertile windows were. It is exhausting! 

I also understand the toll infertility takes on your relationship. Your husband becomes more of a tool to help you accomplish your goal than your life partner. The most sacred act of intimacy that two people can share with one another becomes such a chore that you both start to hate it. Hate! You shouldn’t hate having sex with your husband! But, when it becomes a chore and you are obsessed with getting pregnant, you start to resent each other when it doesn’t happen.

You see mama, I’ve been there.

I was there for two and a half years. Two and a half years of longing, heartbreak, jealousy, and feelings of worthlessness. Two and a half years of doctor’s appointments, trying this method, and that method and still not getting a positive. I was there until June 7th, 2012.

It was the day after my 27th birthday and the 11th anniversary of the death of my grandmother. I drove two towns over to put some flowers on her headstone as I try to do every year on that day. But, this time I had something different in mind. As I pulled up the long dirt road that winds behind the church to the cemetery where my grandparents were laid to rest, I knew I had to ask them for something.

I stepped out of my car and walked past the headstones of other family members until I reached theirs. I bent down and set the flowers on the heart-shaped granite and took a step back. I looked around the cemetery and did not see anyone else around. Then as tears filled my eyes, I asked my grandparents to please put in a word for me and my husband. I asked them to let God know that I had had enough already. I was ready to be a mom and my husband, a dad. I spoke of our troubles and how we were thinking of giving up on our dream to be parents. I finished my prayer, kissed the tips of my fingers and then touched both of their names before stepping back one more time.

As I turned to leave, the church bells started to toll. 

I felt the hair on my arms stand up and I looked back to the headstone. I can’t really explain it as it’s only happened to me that one time. A feeling of comfort washed over me. I could almost feel the two of them embracing me and telling me that it was all going to be alright. I didn’t hear voices, but it was just a feeling. 

The entire thing shook me a little so I went and got into my car. As I drove back home I was wondering what had just happened. Once I got home I went about the rest of my day and didn’t think much more of it for a couple of days.

On June 9th, 2012, I was four days late. That morning I took a pregnancy test and it was positive—the first one I had ever had in two and a half years of trying.

On February 8th, 2013 our sweet little boy entered the world in the middle of a snow storm. Looking back, I just knew that my gram (and gramp) knew something that I didn’t. 

I’m sure you might think that it was all in my head. Or that I am trying to justify my long track of infertility. I’m not. I just want you to know that sometimes good things do come to those that wait. To those that struggle, fall down, and want something with all of their heart. So, hold on to the hope that one day you will be a mother. Don’t lose it. Don’t get discouraged or think that it will never happen for you. You may have to fight for it or take alternative routes. You may also have to wait a bit more. It may not happen the way you think it will, but for most of you, it will happen.

If all else has failed and you are running out of hope, throw up a prayer to your favorite angel in Heaven. You just never know if you might be answered.

Britt LeBoeuf

Britt is a married mother of two from northern New York. She has an undergraduate degree in Human Services. When she's not chasing down her two young children, she writes for sites such as Her View From Home, Scary Mommy, Filter Free Parents and Sammiches and Psych Meds. Check out her first published book, "Promises of Pineford" on Amazon too. On her blog, These Boys of Mine, she talks about parenting only boys, special needs parenting, mental health advocacy, being a miscarriage survivor and life as a crazy cat lady. 

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