Can I trust God with my fertility?

I wrote this post a while ago - I won't say how long, just "a while ago."  It's about trying to get pregnant and wrestling with resting in God's plan for my life (a difficult thing to rest while wrestling).  Rereading it reminds me how impatient I am.  

Here at the start, I need to recognize all the women who have fought this battle for much longer than I ever have.  Some of you may have struggled with fertility issues for years and have pursued much more than simply "tracking your cycle" to achieve those blessed 2 pink lines.  Maybe you succeeded; maybe you didn't.  Either way, I admire you.  There are so many emotions, expectations, hopes, dreams, fears, insecurities and so much more wrapped up in that process.  Whatever your path, maybe there's something in my thoughts recorded here that can help or encourage you.  I hope so.  

I am, now, pregnant with Baby Bit Francl (our second child) due April 7, 2014.  But when I wrote this, I was not...  

I’m writing this post in a cowardly way.  I’m not brave enough to post this when it’s actually happening – it’s too dangerous, too sensitive, too tender, too vulnerable.  But I’m writing it because I suspect there are many who can relate to what I’m going through. 

I want to start out by saying that I know how lucky I am, and I treasure each second of my life.  I am privileged.  I am spoiled.  I am blessed.  And I am all these things by no merit of my own, but because of the family I was lucky enough to be born into, the opportunities they gave me, and the grace of the God who saved me. 

With that all out of the way, this post is about pregnancy, or rather the lack thereof.  And I’m struggling with it… or without it, depending on how you look at it. 

I have a daughter, a beautiful, precious, perfect, wonderful daughter, and sometimes when I look at her, my breath leaves me because I’m so overcome with how much I love her.  I didn't know this kind of love was possible.  I love my husband – I love him more than I love any other person, truly I do.  But the way I love my daughter is just… different. 

I wanted her.  I carried her for 9 months, perfectly to term, she came exactly on her due date.  And we “TTC” (tried to conceive) for all of 6 weeks before we succeeded.  I took a pregnancy test that Friday morning wanting simply to know that my period was coming the next day.  When it turned up with 2 lines on it, I literally dug the discarded First Response box out of the trash, unfolded the instructions, and laid the test next to the diagram showing “one line means not pregnant, two lines means pregnant.”

I was shocked.  I was in denial.  It took some adjusting because I didn't expect it so soon.  But I was in love – wholly, completely, imperfectly, beautifully in love.  I was Scared. To. Death.  I understood why some women would choose to terminate, it was that scary.  I understood why they might, but that didn't and doesn't change my conviction that such a choice is wrong and should not be legal.  Those two little pink lines meant that I was the only one who could protect my child for now, and I would, no matter how much it scared me.

See, last time it was easy.  It happened effortlessly.  I didn't track my cycle, really.  I *kind of* knew when I was ovulating, but I was also horribly sick with the flu right in the midst of it all (seriously, it was the flu - I was not yet pregnant), so I knew the odds were slim.  After we found out, we joked about how fertile we must be.  “Runs in the family,” we joked.  That was last time.

I had a pregnancy scare months ago now.  I had every symptom, and I had been pregnant before, so I knew what the symptoms were.  I had every symptom except the critical one: those two pink lines.  And I was again scared to death, because it would have been a horribly inconvenient time to be pregnant and have a baby – the due date would have been in the middle of some things already planned that we couldn't change, things we needed to do.   The pregnancy would have complicated a lot of things about life, and we weren't in a place where we even had a place to put another baby. 

A week later my period came, and I started reading about the effects of coming off of the type of birth control I was on.  Turned out my body was reacting in a totally normal way, and I felt totally not normal.

So then I started tracking things.  I tracked them closely.  I read the same articles over and over again.  I recalculated my due date should I become pregnant on each cycle.  We planned to capitalize on each opportunity each month.  Still only 1 pink line.

Through it all, I talked about it with God.  And I guess that’s really why I’m writing this.  I want to remember what I thought, and I suspect if you've gone through a similar experience at all (probably yours was much longer, more difficult, and more frustrating than mine), you can relate…

First, I felt guilty that I didn't want to be pregnant when I had the pregnancy scare.  Convenience shouldn't determine when you have a child – they are, after all, a blessing from the Lord, right?  I felt like maybe I wasn't getting pregnant when I wanted to because God was punishing me for not wanting to be pregnant.

I also had told God (and a number of other people) precisely when I wanted to get pregnant for the second time.  Then I changed my mind and decided that getting pregnant 6 months earlier than I’d originally thought would be ok.  When I didn't get pregnant in that 6 months, I thought that probably God was just holding me to my original plan.  You know, really “giving me what I wanted” in the first place.

In the course of things I was humbled.  No longer could I joke about “super-fertility” and only taking 6 weeks to get pregnant.  It had been months.  Maybe God was teaching me humility.  If only I could learn the humility lesson good enough…

I worked on how I mothered my daughter.  I thought that maybe I still have too much to learn about being a mom to be the mother of 2 – I’d better get after it and learn more about how to be a good mom.

I wondered, what if I’m destined to only have one child – what if that is God’s plan for my life?  Can I submit to that plan?  What if only one biological child is His plan, but he wants me to adopt or foster?  That scared scares me to death, if I’m being honest.  If it’s my flesh and blood, there’s no question that God chose me to raise the child, and though I know I’ll screw up, I don’t have to wonder if this was the child meant to be the recipient of my parenting.  Adopting and/or fostering on the other hand… holy cow.  I admire those who choose those options, because they seem so overwhelming to me.

What if my daughter is the only child I’ll ever have – biological, or not – would I be ok with that?  Is God just trying to get me in a place where I’m willing to do whatever He asks of me?  Will He make me wait until I REALLY surrender everything?  Then I’d better come to grips with it and surrender my plans so I can get pregnant again.

But, I would argue within myself, God put this desire for another child in my heart.  He’ll fulfill that, right? 

And then I’d get on Facebook and see my friends.  This one is due in a few weeks, that one had a baby 6  months ago, this one is announcing she’s pregnant, that one’s baby just weighed in the 90^th percentile – chubby little cutie!  And my friends who aren't having kids are there too, but the soon-to-be and recent mommies stand out from all the others as I look.

I’d climb in bed and look at the picture on my nightstand.  It’s the first family picture we took after we became a family of 3.  It’s one of my all-time favorite pictures – Chase, me, and a little bundle of wonders who I love more and more every single day.  I think back to when that picture was taken and it was such a special time, so sweet, so full of promise.  We were so relieved that she arrived safely, that she and I were healthy, that the scary part was over.  Yet it was all just beginning.

That’s what I want.  That’s really all I want.  I want to feel the wonder of a baby moving beneath my navel.  I want to go in every month and hear the baby’s heartbeat.  I want to be exhausted because my body is building the coolest organ ever – the placenta.  I want to feel nauseous (remind me of that one later…) because my hormones are out of whack, and a baby is growing inside of me.  I want to read every day about what my baby is doing, how he or she is developing, and what I can do to best help him or her, because it’s something that only I can do because only I am the mom.  That’s what I want.

But for now, God is saying no.  I don’t know why He’s saying that.  But I do know that it’s not because He’s vindictive, or punishing me for not learning a lesson, or “just giving me what I wanted in the first place,” or any other foolish thing I might try to put on Him.  I know that He has a plan for me, and I know that it’s hard sometimes just to rest in that.  Why do I make it so hard to rest in that? 

To be honest, the way pregnancy tests are talked about doesn't help.  If you’re not pregnant the test came back “negative” or you “failed” the test.  Instead of getting two pink lines you get to have a stinking period again.  I read a book a while back, The Red Tent.  It was set in Bible times, and it talked at one point about how women celebrated their “monthly flow” because it mean the opportunity for new life was still possible – menopause was not celebrated.  But when you’re TTC, Aunt Flow’s visit isn't something to look forward to.  Especially if she’s a day or two or three late in showing up – that just frustrates things all the more. 

And then there’s the advice they give you or that you read when you’re TTC:  just relax, don’t stress out, don’t over think it, but do track your cycle, know when you’re best chances are, pay attention to your body, etc, etc, etc. 

It’s all so frustrating.  High school girls who have a little “too much fun” turn up pregnant with no way to support themselves and their babies, while committed married couples who have everything in place to care for a child can’t conceive.  *sigh*

But it’s not about fair, and it’s not about what makes sense, and it’s not about what I think at any rate.  It’s about God’s plan.  And we screwed up His perfect plan with sin, so now we live in this imperfect world where we simply have to live each day the best that we can.  

What does that mean?  I’m not entirely sure, but I know that today I have a husband and a daughter, and for now I’ll just take care of them.  And maybe, someday, if I ever have the privilege of being pregnant again I’ll post this.  I’ll post this to remind myself how glad I should be to feel sick all the time, how excited I should feel to be perpetually exhausted, and how elated I should be to again be a part of a miracle.  And I’ll post it to remind myself that God isn't vindictive, that He’s not just “teaching me a lesson,” that it’s not about how well I do or don’t learn that lesson, that His plan is perfect, and I should rest in that.

Maybe I should post this now, but I’m too much of a coward.  I can’t face those around me looking at me, dying to ask the question, “Two pink lines yet?” or “Any luck this month?”  And I can tell you that after this experience, I’ll be much more careful about asking such questions myself.