The Two Worlds of my Infertility

I feel so constantly torn.

How do you know when to fight for what you want, to not just give up...or when you should just let go?

How do you find that line?

I'm trying to do both and it's hard. I'm trying to let it go "for now". I'm trying to move on, to make myself accept that this may be all the family I get, that my baby days may be over, that I may never see my body pregnant again, the last pregnancy unknowingly my last.

At the same time, I have to lay foundations. I have to allow that door to stay open a crack, with potential that it can open wide one day. In order to do that, I can't let go completely. I have to fight companies to give us another interview. I have to fight against other people trying to get the jobs. I have to fight myself over what to get rid of and what I know I'll regret getting rid of later if we do have another. I have to fight between staying at our home and saving money or moving to where we may be able to make more money but start with nothing.

It's not some mythical being that I'm mourning. I'm mourning my Vincent. I said for two years that it felt like we had another little boy, our little Vincent, already part of our family and just waiting to arrive. I've always felt like he was meant to be. Bill has felt it too, felt like there's this baby that's ours, who already has a name and a family he's waiting to join. He's not just any baby, he's a baby that's meant to come from me, grow from me, birthed by me...but my body isn't capable of that on it's own. It's why this is so confusing. I still feel him, I still feel like he's supposed to be here. How can I give up on my little boy whose just not here yet? How can I not fight for him?

Fighting for him means pain, it means planning, it means not letting go. But letting go means I'll always miss him, I'll always feel incomplete, I'll always feel like a failure of a mother for not even trying when things got hard.

So I'm torn, constantly torn.

I try to live both worlds, a world of hope and a world of freedom. It's internal struggle, but it's something. I feel like every step I make, I have to make it for both worlds, but at least it's a step. I may need to tread carefully, but at least I'm moving. It's just so much thought and weight that goes into every breath I take and every move I make. It's hard.