Somehow my husband and I got onto the conversational topic of the best day of our life. I quickly said "our wedding day was the best day of my life! Wasn't it beautiful? It was so amazing."
Then I stopped myself. Wait a minute, wasn't the day I had the boys the best day of my life? I got a little teary and my husband immediately knew where I was going with my thoughts. (He could read it on my face, I didn't need to say a word.) He said "no, the day you had them wasn't the best day of your life, quite possibly, it was your worst."
When I was going through infertility, I used to watch the baby story with a passion. I'd sit and sob my eyes out at the beauty of every birth. I'd dream about my own baby. As time passed, and I couldn't get pregnant, my drive to watch the baby story waned. By the end of it all, I got physically angry when I saw a pregnant woman. They seemed to be everywhere.
My own delivery was no walk in the park. After almost dying, and almost losing both boys, I developed post traumatic stress disorder. Definitely not what I would call the best day of my life.
I know that I am mentally ready to have another baby. (Although our budget isn't yet, ha!) Once again, the t.v. remote seems to change on its own to TLC just in time for me to see some glowing woman pop out a baby with a few pushes. I still cry a tear, but this time it's for a few reasons. I cry because I grieve the birthing experience I never got to have. I cry because I worry what infertility will deal me this time around. And I cry because I wish I had been able to say the day I gave birth to my boys was the best day of my life. In some ways, infertility dealt me another forceful blow that day they cut me open before I was asleep, and pulled my babies out. It took away my ability to call the day I met my children the best day of my life.
p.s. tomorrow is my 3 year blogaversary!!