"I'm infertile," I say calmly to myself as I stare at my reflection in the mirror; Margot bounces down the hallway outside the bathroom, chasing our cat while she wails away on her little plastic harmonica. I can't have children — and yet, yes — I have one. And I'm watching her grow from infant into the burgeoning sweet girl she is and is becoming, and I can hardly contain my boundless love and infinite gratitude.
How did I land here, so equally blessed and bereaved all at once?
I am the one in eight women with infertility, I am the one in four women who's lost a child in utero, and I am one of billions of women who've conceived and birthed unassisted. I am with, and I am without. It's a mad fight I'll always be in, and I carry the weight of it daily, with all the strength I can muster.
On some days I can overcome, while on others I find msyelf being swallowed whole. On all days, however, I am in awe that this child is my own.
Blessed be this perfect anomaly — this bright spark.
Upon us now is National Infertility Awareness Week. Are you one in eight too? Are you one in four simultaneously? I hold space for you today, this week, and always. I know your struggle as it's my own.
If you have children under your wing, gather them up and hold them close; if you have but one, smother that gift in love and light; and if your arms are empty, reach out — I'll grab your hands and hold them until the end. I am with you always.