There is a hidden side of infertility you don’t often hear about. It’s what happens when you fight the battle long-term. When you must straddle the line between hope and likely reality. When you must be prepared both for being a parent and never being a parent.
Plainly stated, it’s hell.
Our path wound its way over eight long years. Hundreds of ovulation predictors. Dozens of pregnancy tests. Eat this. Don’t eat that. Change your cleaning products, your hair products, your detergent. Acupuncture. Yoga. Therapy. SO MUCH THERAPY.
Not a single positive test. Not. One.
But like all of life, it hit us in phases.
“We’re going to have a baby!”
For those first four years, we prepared ourselves to be parents. We drank less. We saved. We imagined our kids playing with the kids our best friends were having left and right. We even bought a few little outfits and baby trinkets. Because we just knew that next month would be the month.
But it wasn’t. Ever. And as the woman, I lived in two-week increments. Pee on a stick…time to have sex. Be excited for sex. Don’t let the sex be stressful. Two weeks later…pee on a stick. “Do my boobs hurt more? They do. I swear it. This doesn’t feel like a normal period.”
But it always came.
“We’ll be fine without a baby.”
And so, we decided to stop. For the next four years we didn’t try, but we didn’t prevent. However, anyone who has done this before can tell you that you never stop hoping. Even when you won’t allow yourself to buy the ovulation predictor, let alone pee on it, you’re mentally counting days and you’re still broken when your period hits again. But now you try to hide it. Even from your partner. Even as they try to hide their own disappointment from you.
The difference was this four years was all about us. We traveled. We invested in home remodels. We had more fun and cared less. We talked about what life would look like if it were just us forever. We’d been together more than 10 years by this point. We didn’t need kids to fulfill our lives.
He went back to school and redefined his career goals. I started writing books and became a self-published author. We found a groove. We made plans. We were good. Just us. That was all we needed.
But there’s always a twist.
Then I got an email that said my company’s health insurance plan was going to cover IVF. And just like that, it all changed. Because while we ran the gamut of preparedness and emotions, neither of us could walk away without knowing we took the last step. Especially now that we could actually afford the very expensive game of “what if” that is in vitro.
So, we went for it. We paid for genetic testing to ensure our odds were better. I injected myself with more needles than I care to remember. He injected me with even more needles. We put in just one egg. And while the odds were so teeny tiny, it split.
Be careful what you wish for.
The transition from “We’ll be fine without a baby,” to “Holy crap, we’re having identical twins,” was not easy for either of us. I sobbed when the nurse told us, knowing instantly the amount of emotional and financial stress we were about to be under. It felt like someone handed us one dream while ripping the other one from our souls before we had the chance to say good-bye and willingly let it go.
It’s not an easy thing to admit accepting your pregnancy was also a period of mourning. Because while you can never truly prepare yourself for having a single child, nothing in this universe or any other can prepare you for multiples. The impact to your sense of self, your marriage, your bank account, and your mental health cannot be ignored.
And while you want to feel grateful for the gift you’ve been given, some days you feel like an alternate future was stolen from you. One you were forced to embrace. To envision. To believe was possible and fulfilling.
The good news is the babies don’t stay little for long, and you eventually sleep again. And one day you stop wondering what that other life may have looked like. Because you can’t imagine a world where you aren’t hugged by two sets of tiny arms at once. When you don’t hear a chorus of “mama” from the other room. When a matching set of laughter changes everything about your day in an instant.
You will feel judged for voicing these internal conflicts. People who have never walked this path won’t understand. But I do. And I’m here with a double high-five, a large coffee, and an even larger glass of wine. Because you made it, and you’re making it, and you’re doing great. Really. You are.
Stormy Smith is a twin mom, self-published author, music junkie, book addict, and on-a-mission kind of girl. She’s a two-time graduate of Drake University who spends her days drafting employee communications at Principal and her nights trying to plot her next novel (after the chaos of twin bedtime).You’ll find her on the bike trails of Des Moines, brewery patios, and hitting local brunch spots for her bi-monthly lady dates with her girlfriends. She married her college sweetheart and her identical twin sons look just like their daddy.
