I’ll Never Carry My Own Babies
Last updated: August 2022
Being a mother has been my dream since I was a young girl. I loved all babies. Including my only sister, who was born when I was a freshman in high school.
Like most women, I had a plan to become a mother.
Dreaming of having my own children one day
I wanted two girls and possibly a boy. But girls for sure. When I got married at 22, I planned to have my first by 25 and be done having all my kiddos by thirty.
But that dream ended abruptly a few years after my marriage ended, after being diagnosed with several conditions that just aren’t compatible with pregnancy.
Before we get to that, let’s rewind a bit. From the day I started my very first period, it was never regular.
Which didn’t ever happen. But each time I had a period, my cramps were intense and made me sick.
Diagnosed in my teens
Around 15, I also started having horrible low belly pain that could never be figured out. It was just something I had to deal with.
After 11 long years of living with the pain and period issues, I finally had a reason for it all. I was told I had endometriosis. Over the next year, I got three other diagnoses that would prevent me from carrying my baby.
Though no one told me that right away. I kind of feel like no one wanted to break the news. But I remember the day when my doctor told me it would never be safe for me to carry my own baby.
I was shocked. Stunned. I didn’t want to believe that my biggest dream would never come true.
They had to be wrong; they just had to be. Because I had baby names and knew what I wanted the nursery to look like. I even had an idea of what my birth plan would look like.
I know some of you reading this will think I’m crazy. But I always felt like being a mom would be my most important job.
Coping with the impossibility of being a mother
By the time I was diagnosed, I was in my late 20s. So many of my close friends were getting married and having babies. This meant many baby showers, gifts, and talks about pregnancy and labor.
For a few years, I would go to the showers and buy gifts for the baby’s first birthday. While always willing to listen about the difficulty of being a new mom. I would smile and pretend to be as happy as they were. Holding back tears till I reached my car.
As the years passed and the fact started to really set in, I wasn’t going to be able to carry my own baby. And didn’t have the money for a surrogate or adoption.
The happiness could no longer be faked. As much as I wanted to support my friends by attending baby showers, first birthdays, and meeting their new babies.
It was just too hard. I started ordering gifts that would just be delivered to them. I wanted so badly to support them, but I just got to a point where I couldn’t.
I was told many times between then (2012) and now that pregnancy wouldn’t be safe for the baby or me. I never told anyone, but I always clung to the hope that I might somehow be able to have my baby.
Maybe my lupus would go into remission, and I wouldn’t require meds that are not safe for the baby. Or that maybe, just maybe, my migraines would no longer need heavy-duty meds. Sadly that never became the case.
I turned 37 this year and finally had to admit what my doctors have told me for the last ten years. I will never be a biological mother.
I always hoped and prayed it would happen as much as I wanted to. It’s just not in the cards. I hope one day I’ll be able to adopt or even be a stepmom.
If not, I’ll be one heck of an awesome auntie in a few years when my sister gets around to having kids.
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