It's So Hard.

The Dixie Chicks one recorded an amazing song, "So Hard." In a nutshell, two of the sisters wrote it in regard to their own personal life-experiences with infertility. I think it's amazing for two reasons, the first, that I feel I can relate to it on a personal level and I almost always get tears, and secondly, they helped bring public awareness to the infertility demon.

The song popped into my head a few days ago, after being "out of play" if you will, for quite some time. Specifically, the lines that read:

And sometimes I don't have the energy
To prove everybody wrong
And I try my best to be strong
But you know it's so hard
It's so hard

It's so hard when it doesn't come easy
It's so hard when it doesn't come fast
It's so hard when it doesn't come easy
It's so hard

It felt like a given
Something a woman's born to do
A natural ambition
To see a reflection of me and you

And I'd feel so guilty
If that was a gift I couldn't give
And could you be happy
If life wasn't how we pictured it

And sometimes I just want to wait it out
To prove everybody wrong
And I need your help to move on
Cause you know it's so hard
It's so hard

It's hard. Infertility can kill a woman's spirit and wreak havoc on her soul. Even when you have God by your side, as I feel like I did, it was still "so hard." SO hard. Heart break one month after another, sometimes for years.

But, in February of 2010, we won a battle against infertility, specifically Poly-Cystic Ovarian Syndrome (what they "diagnosed" me with). On November 1, 2010, our miracle entered the world.

Naively, I thought that the heartache and memories of what it felt like to be infertile and to wage that war would dissipate, maybe not completely, but enough that I wouldn't have to think about it or feel them anymore.

I was wrong. Even after having Spencer, it was still hard to see people get pregnant with their second, third, fourth... children. It was hard to hear people say they were going to start trying and that only a few weeks later, they'd find out they were pregnant. It was hard, but it wasn't as devastating as it used to feel, at least. A little less salt on a somewhat healed wound, I guess one could say.

When we decided we were going back to combat against the PCOS, the heartache came back for a while, especially the second round of treatments. I didn't expect the first to work, but the second I had high hopes for. I cried a bit, and moved on more quickly than I did in the three and a half years of irregularity, lack of ovulation, and extremely scarce cycles, before we conceived Spencer.

Third time's a charm, they say, and the third round, we conceived Sprout. I was shocked beyond belief, but of course, completely overjoyed. Though, I had a guarded heart the entire time, and from day one, was terrified I would lose the baby. I guess that's a mother's intuition, maybe, a foreshadowing of the loss that recently occurred. Or, it could be coincidental, who knows. I was worried about it with Spencer, but not quite as much. I remember that this last pregnancy, I was even researching miscarriage and still having pregnancy symptoms while having a miscarriage yet, and things of that nature.

And then, we lost Sprout.

I hope I do not offend anyone out there who hasn't gone through infertility struggles, who has had a baby recently, who just got pregnant, who just announced they were pregnant, who is in the middle of a pregnancy, who is thinking about having a baby... what have you, when I write what is to come. I do not mean to offend anyone with the way my mind and heart feel sometimes.

It's hard, all over again, to see these pregnancies occurring and happening all around me. I have lots of friends and family, from "online only" friends to people I see on a weekly basis, who are pregnant. Oddly, though it kind of makes sense, once a person has a baby, it doesn't tug at my heart strings anymore. Probably because I too have a baby.

But the pregnancy announcements and belly photos and constant reminders that there are people out there continuing to grow a healthy child inside of them sting just a little bit.

I'm not saying I don't want to know about these wonderful blessings, nor do I want to ignore that they're surrounding me, because they do in fact still give me hope. I guess it's a double-edged sword in a way.

Infertility (or other reasons a person can't have a baby) do crazy things to a heart, in that you can be ecstatic for a friend, and devastated for yourself, all in the same instance, regarding the same situation. It stinks. I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

I guess some would call it "jealousy" which is another evil monster, and it might be a form of it. But, while I admit I do envy those women who are having healthy pregnancies, I don't do it in a spiteful, hurtful way. I feel that envy in a way that I'm sad for my husband and I in that we just lost a growing baby. I hope that makes sense.

These things are so very hard to articulate.

If I really sit and reflect, I can happily admit that it hurts less now than it did before I became a mother. It's just unfortunate that it still hurts.

Like I said, I hope I didn't offend anyone pouring my heart out there. I don't mean any of this in a hurtful or malicious way. I just... needed to get it out of my system again so I can move on. I don't hate anyone who has it easy, though it's hard to compare that to having it a bit more difficult, of course. I am not mad that others are having healthy babies. I just wish that was my husband and I, too. Hopefully, soon, Jake and I will be back in the "trying to conceive" group of the infertility community, and then, God willing, we'll be blessed with a healthy pregnancy and Spencer will become a big brother. I keep praying. I hope others are still, too.