On Desiring a Baby

I was at youth group tonight, and we were singing “Heal Our Land”. The chorus says, “Here we are, abandoned hearts, on bended knee”, and I kept hearing the Holy Spirit tell me to get on my knees. Our conversation went something like this:

“I don’t want to.”

“Do it.”

“But it’s uncomfortable. Why do you want me to do it?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just do it.”

“But this is so small. I’m just going to ignore it.”

“If you can’t obey me in something small, then how can I trust you with something bigger.”

“Bahhh – FINE!” I got on my knees.

And that is why I am here - because that (sometimes) annoying voice keeps telling me to write, and despite my best attempts to ignore it, the persistence is now deafening, and even though I was up at 4 am (which I blame on my earnest husband), I can’t sleep.

So I poured myself a glass of champagne, and here I am. Where to start? My childhood church, where the average number of kids per family was 5? Or middle school, where I was under the impression that if I looked at a boy I could get pregnant? Or my family fertility record, which is heavily weighted toward the, “I know we have five kids already, but we’re pregnant – don’t how that happened!” side of the spectrum. Or my nickname as womb warmer, which was given to me by my brother after my sister got pregnant immediately following vacations with me? Or my general disdain for the term “trying”? O - I know where to start.

The month after our wedding, I was a week late. Vance joked about my especially large boobs. “Don’t get too excited,” I cautioned. But I didn’t want to take a pregnancy test, because I enjoyed the thought that we could have a baby. Vance is already an amazing dad, and as much as I want kids, I want to give him kids. He loves them, and they love him. And I mean LOOOOVE him. How special it will be to raise a kiddo with him.

Then, I got my period. And with the exception of that first month, it has visited like clockwork, a seemingly soulless and callous reminder of hope deferred. And each month, my reaction has differed.

“Well, it’s probably best it’s not happening right now. We have a lot going on.”

“It’s our first year of marriage, so I definitely don’t want to put pressure on us.”

“A lot of people take a few months the first time.”

“Mehh we may have missed the window this month.”

“We have the necessary ingredients, so it seems logical these would align at some point.”

“Middle school health was B.S.”

“Okay. I’ll pee on a stick. But I’m buying the cheap one.”

“What the heck is this saying? Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten the knock-off.”

“I’m not gonna drink.”

“Nevermind, I’m gonna drink.”

“Okay, now I’m tracking for realz, for realz. We’re gonna be militant about this. I’m buying the expensive stick.”

“Why does this monthly realization come during literally the most emotional time where under normal circumstances I cry watching an episode of Scrubs. Although, to be fair, Scrubs always makes me cry, so not a good example.”

“Vance, you literally have a daughter who is proof that this works! I’m sorry. I’m failing.”

“Okay, what are we doing wrong? What are the blockers? What’s the path to green here? Let's align on next steps.”

“God, have you forgotten me?”

“Vance, I need a hug real bad right now.”

“Anna, people have gone through so much worse. Literally years more of waiting than you. Sometimes with an answer of no. Or miscarriages. Stop crying. Also, you just went to Wimbledon, and your life is amazing. Pull it together, woman! Why do I keep crying? I feel so silly. God, are you laughing at me?”

I’m not writing this for tips on tracking my ovulation or a word of encouragement or prayer or a shared story (though of course I welcome those – except for the tips on tracking ovulation – there are enough blogs and Instagram ads out there!). I’m certainly not writing to make people afraid for me to know they’re pregnant – I will always celebrate with you! This is me throwing my hands up and saying “Bahhh – FINE!” to the Holy Spirit. I don’t know why He asks us to do things. Sometimes I think He just asks us to obey for the sake of obedience. Despite my propensity for over-sharing, I don’t actually want to resurrect my seriously neglected blog to reveal this part of our lives.

I do know this. As a child, I prayed every night that Kiva and Dwight and David and Dory and Elmer and Tes would have children, and indeed, they all have beautiful families, though not without a story. I flew to New Zealand when my sister and her husband lost their Stephen to a miscarriage at six months and then again to welcome their sweet answer to prayer a couple years later. I have comforted dear friends who believed they may not have children as punishment for past decisions and seen redemption. And for as many people I know who have gotten pregnant on a whim, there are those who have struggled immensely, sometimes with success, and sometimes not. Many retreated from social media, which I totally understand, because sometimes I open my newsfeed, and my reaction is, “bahhh, of course they’re pregnant. Who else? Come on? Who else can you throw at me? O crap. Didn’t even know she was married.” We all cope differently, and apparently my mechanism is to scream from the rooftops, “I want a baby!” To each their own.

I also know that God is faithful, and every time I lose a little piece of my heart, He’s not laughing. He cries with me, and then He comes and helps piece it back together, as my loving husband reminds me. I think about all the women in the Bible who longed for children and hoped in waiting. I remember Anna, who waited for years to see the Savior, a promise that had been given to her. And I cling to a promise He gave me.

In one of the many moments I questioned whether or not I would ever marry, I asked God to give me a dream of my future. “Just show me the cats, God!” I pleaded. I didn’t dream about a wedding or husband, and I didn’t dream about my future as a cat lady (no judgment); instead, I was sitting on a patio, looking at my two adorable children, a four-year-old boy and two-year-old girl with much darker complexions than mine. When I met Vance, I knew they were his. In a rare moment of discretion, I resisted the urge to tell him this on our first date, and here we are.

I like to think God gave me that dream because He knew I’d have to cling to it. More than anything, though, I cling to the faithfulness of God. My whole life is a story that only He could write, starting with the fact that my parents had the faith to have another child just months after finding out their son was severely brain damaged. My career, my friendships, my travel, my husband, our home, our life, our relationships. All of it is a testament to His goodness.

Who knows what the coming months and years will hold? Maybe you’ll see a gender reveal in four months. You won’t – I don’t believe in throwing children parties until they’re old enough to thank me. Maybe we’ll get the right concoction of vitamins, diet, and sleep. Maybe we’ll go down the path of adoption or fertility treatments. Maybe we’ll stop “trying”, whatever that means. Stupid term.

Whatever they hold, though, I know they will be yet another testament to His goodness. For now, thanks for reading.