Instead, I suspect a doctor and a laboratory will try to assist God with our conception while my husband watches from the other side of the room. I want to have sore breasts and be totally exhausted, then discover that my period is several days late. I want to buy a pregnancy test and pee on a stick. I want to see a second line. I want to cry tears of joy for the news we'd discover. I want to surprise my husband with the news that he is going to be a daddy. I want to see the look on his face. But I can't.
Instead, I cry tears of pain every month when it doesn't happen and I cry to my husband, "Why??" and I apologize for being defective, because he is fine. I want to experience morning sickness. I want my hormones to go haywire. I want the 'pregnant glow.' I want to have my husband talk to my belly. But I can't.
I want to take pre-natal vitamins. I want to eat for two. I want to schedule my first doctor's visit. I want to sit in the waiting room with other pregnant women and know that I am one of them. But I can't.
Instead, I wonder if those pregnant women ever had problems conceiving and if they are taking that little miracle for granted. I think how cute they look as they waddle with their big bellies. I smile at babies that are not mine. I ache from loving someone I've never met. I want to hear the Doctor say, "You're pregnant. Your progress is right on schedule." But I can't.
Instead, I hear my well-meaning friends say "just relax." Wow! If I had known anxiety was an effective form of birth control, I'd have tried it years ago! I wanted to surprise my parents with a new grandchild; instead I burdened them with the news that we are having problems conceiving. I want my life to change overnight. I want to read What to Expect When You're Expecting. But I can't.
Instead, I read When Empty Arms Leave a Heavy Burden. I want to wear maternity clothes and rub my belly (but not too much because it annoys the heck out of me when pregnant women do that continuously!) I want to monitor the progress. I want to see the ultrasounds. I want to hear the heartbeat. I want stretch marks. I want to watch our baby grow. I want to feel the kicks. I want to be measured. But I can't.
Instead, I give blood, get poked and prodded and have surgery. I pray for my eggs to grow and pray they fertilize. I take my temperature and try to interpret every little rise and dip, and how it compares with my temperature pattern last month. I examine every bodily secretion that comes out of my body, hoping and praying for spotting at just the right times, and no spotting at others. I take supplements. I wait. I pray. I wait for the one phone call that can make our life better. Or worse. I want to decorate the nursery. I want to childproof our home. I want to shop for adorable, soft, tiny outfits. I want to shop at Gymboree. I want to save money for the baby's future. But I can't.
Instead, I imagine a crib in the empty room down the hall. I avoid the baby stores in the mall. I want to be the one to excuse myself to go nurse my baby. Instead, I'm the one stuck at the table with all the husbands. I want to use a car seat. I want to pump. I want to have my baby throw up all over me. I want to change dirty diapers. I want to give baths. I want to watch my husband hold our baby from across the room. But I can't.
Instead, I watch him with our niece and love the way he loves her, but get my heart broken each time I see it. I want to see him love OUR baby. I want to tell my friends about how my baby learned to roll over, or say da-da, or how he took his diaper off and threw it across the room. I want to buy my baby new shoes. But I can't.
Instead, we will spend our money on doctor appointments, tests and high tech procedures. We will spend our money on a dream. We may be left with an empty bank account. We may be left with empty arms. I want to share the experience with my pregnant friends. I want to compare symptoms. I want to be the guest of honor at a baby shower. But I can't.
Instead, I watch my friends and relatives get pregnant quickly. I watch their bellies grow, attend their showers, see their pictures and try to be a good friend. I watch their lives change and our friendships change in front of my eyes. I want my belly to drop. I want my water to break. I want contractions. I want my husband by my side and my family in the waiting room. I want the pushing. I want the pain. I want to hear the cry. But I can't.
Instead, I feel a different pain. I hear my own cry. Yes, I even hear the cry of my husband which hurts more than I had ever imagined. I want to hold our baby in my arms, with tears of joy streaming down our faces. I want the nurses to take a picture of us when our baby is only minutes old. I want to experience the miracle of birth, thinking, "We did it!", but knowing that God did it. But I can't.
Instead, I hold my husband in my arms with tears of sorrow streaming down our faces and wonder what God's plan is for us and why we have to go through this. I want to pray that one extra special blessing be added to my life. And I do. I pray my 1000th unanswered prayer to God and hope that this time He answers. I pray for the miracle of life that only God can give. I pray that someday soon, He will give it to us. I want to be a mom. --- But I can't.
Instead, I am right where God wants me to be: thankful for our blessings, searching out His will, basking in His grace, trusting in His perfect plan, praying for a change in status from a mom wannabe . . . to the mom I want to be.