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Secondary infertility is hard. It’s an all-encompassing phenomenon that hyper focuses your brain on a single goal: another baby. The perplexity of secondary infertility is that you’ve done this before. You fertilized an embryo, carried the growing child within your womb, and delivered your bundle. It was the most challenging and yet seemingly effortless event of your life. Looking back, you wonder how you achieved such an amazing feat without assistance.

Now, with Clearblue ovulation tests pouring from your pantry, period trackers abounding, basal body flow charts, and the pineapple (so much pineapple) you are unable to do the one thing you thought your body was built for.

It’s infuriating. It’s exhausting. Mostly, it just plain sucks.

I think it’s fair to feel restless and unfulfilled during this process. Making babies is supposed to be fun and easy not excruciatingly complicated. But this time, complicated is all you know. From the negative tests to the positive ones followed by losses, the doctor’s appointments, the blood draws, and the hormone shotsyou’ve felt all the feels and not the ones that make you glow inside.

RELATED: The Silent Struggle of Secondary Infertility

You’re sick of the encouraging messages like you’ve done this before, you’ll do it again. Or, hey at least trying is the fun. And my personal favorite you just have to stop thinking about it, and then it will happen. These are well-intended but don’t encapsulate the rollercoaster you travel upon each month. 

I’ve never prayed for patience, and yet, God is telling me to wait. It’s taken me months to accept this as a response to my emphatic plea. Wait. Really? Somehow, this answer, (if you want to call it one), is worse than no. My mind spins with questions. So, it’s still possible then? When will I get it? What do I need to do to achieve it? Should I just give up? And the paramount inquiry, why? 

It was yesterday when the pieces fell into place for me.

My son took my hand in his own, requesting I share cantaloupe with him. So with his sweet fruit and sweeter face, he and I sat on the steps of our deck letting the warm spring wind blow by us. We munched on the orange bites and watched the birds eat from our neighbor’s feeder . . . we even saw a helicopter.

It was a big day for him, one he thanked Jesus for in his evening prayers. In those moments, he snuggled into me, asking for me to “hold him more.” I squeezed tightly and felt tears welling up.

Here I was wishing for the future and missing . . . this

Time is so fleeting. How few minutes will it be just us? How many seconds will he have his parents all to himselfthe beautiful undivided attention of the firstborn? How blessed is he to not have to share me? And yet, he is sharing me with a dream I have refused to lay down and wait for.  

I can’t give up his time just to want something that doesn’t exist yet. How silly and undoubtedly unfair to distract myself from this perfect little boy covered in cantaloupe juice who is pointing out everything that flies.

This waiting time belongs to him, and I want to give him every second I can. 

Even in the beauty of this moment, I know I’ll still struggle with this revelation. But I want to learn how to wait better. I don’t want to be distracted on these perfect days. We mention our disclaimersfor me, it’s my husband and my son, the people who we are and who I should be so thankful for. All the while, we are waiting miserably for what we desire next. 

RELATED: The Unexpected Joy of Waiting on God

I savor the memories of when I could give my husband all of my focus while I waited for my first son. I miss those times of impromptu romance, uninterrupted conversations, and Sunday mornings to sleep in. I wouldn’t trade now for then . . . now is better, but I miss those things.

I know that’s how it will be when this season is over.

I will be elated to grow our family, but I will also miss when my hugs were reserved just for him, when I could lay beside him even after he fell asleep brushing back the hair on his forehead, when I could listen to his adventures with Grandma without distraction, when his discoveries, his messes, and his laughter were what made up my whole world.

More babies bring more joy, but if I must wait, I don’t need to ask why anymore. My why is before me, and I won’t blink because I don’t want to miss a thing. 

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Ashley Testa

I am a teacher, wife, mom, and coffee enthusiast who sometimes reflects on this perfectly imperfect life.

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