I have this friend, you see. A good friend. She’s a remarkable wife and has been blessed with one little boy, who will be three. For the last year or so, her heart has been heavier than it should be, as each month she has exhausted her efforts in growing her family by two more feet.

Every month she recovers from the previous month’s heartbreak of a late period and regains hope and strength to try again. She grabs the next month by the horns and is certain that this is the month. This is the window of opportunity and this is the day. This is it.

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And then, it’s not.

Migraines, cramps, and negative tests followed by a weeklong reminder of menstruation that she once again has been unable to get pregnant.

I’ve watched hope fade and sadness win, and then I’ve witnessed remarkable faith and determination take over her.

I’ve heard her talk about herself in a way no woman ever should, sheer unworthiness and defectiveness. I’ve witnessed firsthand how wonderfully she treats her body and keeps it healthy to grow a life. I’ve seen the piles of medication boxes she takes from the reproductive specialist. I see every emotion and sacrifice. Each one hurting my heart to witness such a wonderful woman endure.

Meanwhile, gracefully handling a 2-year-old with the elegance of a swan, she is collected and calm and goes to bed each night grateful for the child in her arms. She is thrilled to be a mother, and I can really learn from this.

I believe so strongly in my heart that some women were meant to be mothers. They have nurturing coursing through their veins. And if you’ve stood by a woman in her journey and felt the pain with her or felt the pain yourself, then you understand.

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You understand what it’s like to be strapped into a rollercoaster you’ve never seen before. A rollercoaster that keeps plunging, and you’re not sure if it will have the momentum to make its way back up. A rollercoaster, that at the end, could be the miracle you’ve been waiting for, but you may have to hit the emergency stop button before the ride concludes. Because it’s taking a toll on your body, and your heart has just about had enough.

I know I don’t have the answers or even the right words to say to you sometimes, but I am with you.

So to all the women out there trying to get pregnant and to my special friend:

I hope your tenderness carries on. I hope the light in your eyes continues to sparkle. I hope you will always feel vulnerable and safe to share your sadness with us. We will get through this difficult time together. I am sorry this is happening to you. I pray for you. I pray for your heart.

Jennifer Bailey

Stay at home mom enjoying one little boy and navigating parenting one trip to Target at a time.