Failure.

I never cared much about not being able to do something really really well. I am okay with being “just okay” at certain things. I’m not a great cook, but I cook well enough that I’ve been able to keep kids alive for the past fourteen years. I don’t consider myself a brilliant writer, but I’ve blogged and journaled for as long as I can remember. I’m not overly great at any one particular thing, and this has always been totally fine with me. It’s who I am- what makes me ME.

Being part of the Recurrent Miscarriage Club is not something I ever expected for my life. As I’ve mentioned before, I never considered having more kids after my perfect “girl and boy” pairing that I already have. But then, Ryan Middleton happened. And everything changed. (And I know, poooor me, my dream husband and two of the sweetest human children EV-ER). Now I can’t imagine not having children with Ryan. I can’t fathom going through life without more Littles like my Lilly and my Anderson. But to this point, I’ve not been able to make that happen. It’s the one thing that I’m not okay being “just okay” with.

Unless you’ve endured infertility, miscarriage, or recurrent miscarriage you just can’t grasp the enormity to this sense of failure. My logical mind knows that this is science. This is just a matter of things not lining up properly. But my heart and my feelings instead say: WE get pregnant, but I can’t keep the pregnancy. It’s personal. So personal that even my incredibly patient and entirely TOO forgiving husband can’t understand. He doesn’t understand that it hurts because I can’t give him what I know he wants too. He doesn’t understand that it hurts because I’ve never wanted something so badly in my life. He doesn’t understand that I’ve never allowed myself to feel failure in my life- because I’ve always been okay being “just okay” at things. He doesn’t understand how differently that type of love feels- the love between a parent and a baby. I want him to get to experience all those things, and mostly, I want to experience that alongside him.

So, while I won’t let myself fester too much in these feelings of failure, I will let myself grieve these losses. I will let myself feel all of this- the hurt, the disappointment, the physical pain of daily hormone injections and ultrasounds every three days, the inner sadness that sometimes seeps into my outside life, and causes me to pour champagne at noon on a Saturday afternoon to mask the emotions!

I will feel it all, because I know I love a God who knows my desires and my heart. I know I serve a God who is good and mighty, and who knows the outcome of all these feelings. I know I have a God who has his hand on my life and can scoop me up and soften all these feelings with just my willingness to let Him. And. He.NEVER.Fails.