In spite of the fact I cannot have kids naturally, I am a complete and total birth junky
My sister had a baby this year. A sweet, perfect, tiny, baby boy. I got to be there, at the birth of my nephew. My younger sister choosing a drug free birth, bravely and miraculously gave life to her first son. It was every emotion imaginable in the room, sprinkled with extra doses of awe and wonder.
A few weeks later one of my dearest friends had her first baby girl. During those initial fresh and out of this world (for better or for worse) days of her daughter’s life I knocked on her door with a bowl full of Chinse chicken salad and a loaf of fresh bread. When my friend opened the door I traded her the salad for a few sweet minutes with her new baby girl, and the loaf of bread for a detailed story of her daughter’s birth. I sat on her slate grey couch with a sleeping baby in my arms. My friend slowly and carefully settled her stretched and sore body down in the new rocking chair next to the couch. Her mom was there for a few nights, as new grandma’s tend to do, and even though she had heard the story a dozen times, you could see the sappy love in her eyes as her daughter retold the details of contractions, epidurals, nurses, and the bravery it took to meet her daughter face to face for the first time.
As I held her soft skinned, sweet smelling daughter in my arms I asked questions about every detail and teared up as I imagined the pain and the joy, the mess and the beauty found in that tiny hospital room that day.
The story came to a close and the sleeping baby in my arms began to whimper. I handed her to her mamma to be fed, gave out another round of congratulatory hugs and left, thankful to be a part of this new baby’s life.
A few days later I was checking in with my friend. She told me after I left that night, her mom, who is familiar with my infertility and my family’s story, was worried my friend had told me too much.
“Isn’t it painful for her to hear someone’s birth story when she’s never had a birth story of her own to tell?” She asked my friend.
It’s such a great questions and extremely thoughtful of her to even ask.
A couple weeks’ prior, my whole family came to town to meet my new nephew, the one whose birth I had the honor of being at. We all sat in my sister’s bright and cozy living room, taking turns hold him. While we were there visitors came and went and every single one would sit on the couch and say to my sister, “Okay, tell me everything! How was the birth?” While my sister would share the courageous, painful and miraculous details, her husband, my mom and myself would all chime in with our own experiences from that life changing event.
Later that night, my dad sat in my kitchen, just kinda staring at me as I got dinner ready for our crew, “It’s really gracious of you Heather.” He said,
“What do you mean?” I stirred the sauce on the stove.
“I mean; you listen to Hana tell her birth story when you don’t have one of your own to tell.” He began to cry.
“Dad,” I stopped my stirring and put my arms around him, “I am totally fine. I really am. I promise you when I hear Hana tell her birth story, I only feel complete joy. I have my own stories to tell and they are what God wanted for me and they are more than enough. I don’t want to tell any other kind of story.”
And that’s the truth. There is not one stich of pain left from the loss of my fertility, and I forget that people don’t realize that.
I think people believed there was one way for God to heal me from my infertility, and that’s for me to give birth to a baby. But I’m here to tell you, that’s simply not the case. God’s healing and restoration for our lives comes in many forms, not just for my infertility and me, but for you too!
Remember that friends!
For me, in this scenario, the healing and restoration from the pain of my infertility is found in contentment, and in knowing God’s favor and love for my life. It’s found in the fact that God’s goodness and bigness do not hinge on my ability to get pregnant, and ultimately it’s found in my ability to be a mother. My complete and total healing came in the form of knowing God more fully and in the gifts of Macyn, Truly and August.
So what I want my friend’s mom to know, what I want everyone to know is it’s okay friends, I’m okay.
And you will be too.
The healing you seek, in response to the longing you have in the deepest parts of your heart, may not be fulfilled in a way any of us could dream up. Our finite plans will always be overshadowed by an infinite God…and halleluiah for that!