My Journey to the Mommy Club: My Last Ugly Cry of 2015

I was pretending it wasn’t really going to have to happen. If I whistled past the graveyard on this one maybe, just maybe I could get by without having to stab myself with a syringe full of baby making medicine. With the hustle and bustle of the holidays I had actually forgotten about the process a little and to say that was amazing is pretty accurate. Sure I had taken the hormones already this month but for some reason it was milder than other months. The mood swings weren’t horrid and the food cravings didn’t totally get out of control. I had begun to forget the journey we were on. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that it was a little glorious.

It’s New Year’s Eve 2015 and I am prepping the house for the party of the year. A mashup of our Spartans in the playoffs and ringing in 2016. In a few hours the house will be full of some of our favorite people. The sounds of the Peach Bowl fill the living room and I flit and fly around the kitchen putting up decorations and prepping the nights delicious eats. I’m in my head about the amazingness of the week and full of such gratitude for our family and friends. I hear the garage door open and Bella barks. Hubbz walks into the kitchen admiring his wifey’s handy work around the house. I beam because well let’s be honest… I love accolades and compliments. He kisses me and hands me a bag.

THE bag.

I stop cutting the cheese… BaHa… I just said cutting the cheese… But no for real, I was slicing up cheese. I’m immature, I digress.

I stop and look up at him. I had forgotten I had asked him to grab this medicine when he was out so we had it for next week.

I could feel my heart beat faster in my chest and my skin pricked a little. I wipe my hands and take the bag. Breath quickening I open it and take out the box. I examine it and read over the label. “Do not freeze but keep refrigerated.” (Great so it’s going to be cold when I stab the needle into my flesh. I shall die now.) “Do not take this medicine if you are pregnant.” (Isn’t that kind of, um, DUH… Not judging, just asking here.) I see the box start to shake in my hands and think “OMG! EARTHQUAKE!” I turn to head for the nearest doorway because in the movies people always go stand in doorways then I realize the box is shaking because my own hands are shaking. “Seriously, doll face” I reprimand myself in my head… “Pull it together!!!”

I take a deep breath and blow it out hard. “Suck. It. Up. This is big girl shit. You woke up this morning and put on your big girl panties. You got this.” I open the box and take out the syringe. This can’t be that bad I mutter… Except it is that bad. It is ENTIRELY that bad! That’s when I start to pace the kitchen… And now I am definitely sweating.

Here’s the thing… I don’t do shots. I mean, I do shots, I like them very much, I just don’t do THESE kind of shots. The shots I do are accompanied by a lemon wedge or a good chaser. I realize that inserting a joke here is probably going to get me judged, but I ask, is it joking if it’s true? Maybe don’t answer that.

At some point during my kitchen charades Hubbz took notice and as I pace the kitchen hands shaking he comes up behind me and turns me around. I look up at him and I immediately lose it. Amid the sliced cheese and Happy New Year and football decorations, I start to sob and not just a cute weepy dab my tears sob. It’s a fear staring you in the face, ugly face cry and snot on Hubbz’s shirt sob. I lose all control in the arms of the man that vowed to love me until he dies. I can feel myself begin to hyperventilate and he asks that I hug him back. I can’t. I tell him this and he calmly says it again. This isn’t the poor guys first rodeo. He’s seen the ugly cry and snot on his shirt. He knows if I am focused on hugging him I can’t focus on the panic attack that is about to ensue. I hug him. I hug him and I say the words I have said so many times, “I can’t do this anymore.”

I can’t stab myself with a syringe full of medicine. I can’t handle another ultrasound. I can’t go through the mood swings anymore. I can’t endure another month of waiting. I can’t go through the weight gain anymore (I am on the verge of having to buy bigger panties and when a girl needs bigger panties, in my book, that’s a problem!) I just can’t do this anymore. I hug him so tight that my arms hurt. We stay like this until my breath catches up with itself. We stay like that until the tears stop falling. We stay like that until I am steady again.

I take a deep breath and I look up at him. His blue eyes enveloping me in love. I whisper to him, “I can’t do this anymore.” And he just says “ok, we don’t have to.” I sit on the couch because sometimes a girl just needs a minute. I stare out the window and in my head I adamantly let God know ” I can’t do this anymore. Stabbing myself with a needle is where it ends!” That’s when I feel God’s reply deep in my heart…

“You can’t. But I can.”

I repeat it I my head incase he didn’t hear me the first time, “GOD. I. CANNOT. DO. THIS. ANYMORE.”

Again I feel his reply in my heart, “You can’t. And I can.” I sit and I pout because I am a really great pouter. The words of the God I serve permeating my mind and body and soul.

As I sit and pout, I soften. As I soften, I pray.

“I don’t know how you are going to do this God. I am terrified. I am so damn scared it makes it hard to function. I’m sweating and shaking just thinking about the shot. And the procedure God… I can’t even begin to talk about the fear of going through this next step. Oh God if you want to take this cup from me you can. I won’t mind. Really, I promise. Just take this cup from me. Maybe we don’t need a baby, maybe we will just have a bunch of dogs and amazing vacations. We can go back to Italy for weeks at a time and galavant to Bali and Bowl Games. Our lives will be sea and sand and football. We can settle for being happy just Hubbz and Wifey and our dogs. Pause… Oh God, how do you even love me? Who am I kidding? I want to be a Mommy. I want to be a Mommy so badly that my soul literally aches. God give me something in this despair. For the love of… Well… YOU! Please give me something!”

I feel his words deep in the gut of my soul, “This is your journey. I am your God. I got you.”

I sit. I close my eyes. My mind repeats his promises over and over. The fear is still there but the assurance that He’s got me makes it a lot less scarier.

This is my journey.

He is my God.

And above all the fear, he’s got me.

When I can’t, He can and does.

The God who created the Heavens and Earth.

The God who created me in my Mama’s belly.

The God who restored my marriage.

The God who has blessed me beyond belief.

He’s got me…

And want to know what else? He’s got you too.

Cheers, Dez