There's this blog I read. It's about a woman's battle with infertility. Following a link from another blog I visit almost every day, I found a writer who is not a writer and a mother who is not a mother. While my WIPs are creations of imagination and grammar, her's are WIPs travelling down a fallopian tube.
Somtimes I forget how fortunate I am. I take for granted my "fertile Myrtle" luck. I got pregnant twice. I have two beautiful children. I never worried about the shape of my uterus or my hormonal balance. Artificial insemination or fertility drugs never crossed my mind. My body is made to bear children--although I now have doubts it's made to deliver them.
My first pregnancy was so easy. No morning sickness. No edema. I grew and my baby grew. He arrived two weeks before his due date and was the most wonderous thing I'd ever seen. Before the doc could even stitch me up, I knew I'd happily do it all over again. Labor had not soured my view of the miracle I held in my arms.
Fast forward two and a half years. It took a couple months to conceive, a surprise when compared to the one-time it took to conceive my firstborn. This pregnancy wasn't quite as easy. Bouts of morning sickness. Yet, it was, in all honesty, a breeze compared to the hell I've seen other women go through during the gestional period. When my last child was born on his due date (amazing, I know), I can't say I felt as euphoric as I had when I delivered his brother. It took me so long to come out the recovery room--too much medication pumped into me for the c-section required to remove this big boy--and I was drugged beyond belief. Then there was the worries about the baby. His sugar was too high and he was running a slight fever. But he was alive and he would be fine.
Two pregnancies, two children. How blessed am I?
I read this woman's blog and read through her reader's comments and I realize how fortunate I am. How incredibly lucky my husband and I are. I almost feel guilty.
Reading her blog makes me cry. Often.
It also makes me want to be a better mom.