For five, very wonderful, yet still achingly painful years, people told me to be grateful. They accused me of being greedy for wanting more--wanting more when I already had so very much to be grateful for. I’d struggled to bring my son into this world. He was my gift. The miracle who took and grew in my womb when other embryos had failed.
As a result, I turned inward. I no longer talked about my desire for more with family and most friends. Instead, I found support in strangers...strangers who became friends and didn’t think I was greedy, women who got me, and understood my desires.
But only a woman can know when her heart is complete. I love my son beyond anything and everything in this world…but a woman knows when there is a hole. A piece missing. When the doctors told me to quit, and when family and friends told me to quit trying to have more children and to be grateful, I persisted. I would ask each doctor; “there has to be at least one egg, no?” Several of those doctors rejected my question that was really more a statement. They insisted that all my eggs were faulty and that I would never be a biological mother to any child other than Rory.
Many times during the day, I will stop and think…what if I’d listened? What if I’d quit when family and friends had encouraged me to do so? What if I’d traveled a different route as doctors had urged?
How would my life be different?
Now I know how very, vastly different it would be.
There would be no magical moment of a brother looking at his sisters for the first time:
There would be no daddy's little girl:
(or in this case)...
Daddy's little girls....
There'd be missing smiles:
And perfect little noses...
For nearly ten long years, I battled infertility. I battled tests and procedures and even doctors. So many times since they've been born, I will look at them. I will caress their precious cheeks and hold their tiny hands and think; what if I’d listened? What if I’d quit?
And I'm grateful...that I held onto hope and faith. Because now. At last. I'm complete.