I have spent a lot of time thinking about how easily I wound up on the "other" side.
I never really fell into the category of infertility - and thank God for that. That being said, I'll never be fully cured of the heartache that is the desperate wanting, losing and not getting a baby.
Through the grapevine that is the internet, I came to read one of the best posts about infertility I've ever seen.
I can't tell you how much this post touched my heart. How easily the tears fell as I saw myself - the me from only a few short and lonely months ago - in these words.
Compared to so many stories out there, 8 months and a miscarriage is a walk in the park. And yet, I don't think I'll ever forget or recover from the experience. The uncertainty. The lonely. The hurt that stems from what should be joy. The desperate longing. The frantic clinging to slim hopes, which are dashed so easily. The forced smiles when everyone tells you to just relax. The constant awareness of 9 months later.
It's a form of torture many people understand. Unfortunately, those people seem to be vastly outnumbered by the obnoxious "easy-conceivers" who I'll forever (irrationally, and through no fault of their own, since I used to be one of them) loathe.
Even though I'm on the other side; even though I never really "understood" to begin with, I know that recovered isn't a term I will apply to myself.
I'm just lucky. That's all that separates "us" from "them," and it will never again be lost on me how easily that veil could fall and the fortunes reverse.
When I feel this little one move, I'll say a little prayer of gratitude, and shed a tear for the divine blessing that made it possible. It's an answer to prayer, and although I will never understand why mine was answered and others' are not, I will not take for granted the fact that the answer was YES.
Thank you, God for my YES.
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