I know I have been writing a lot about not being able to have kids lately. And I want to let you know there is more inside of me but this is in the forefront of my mind most days. I want to tell you that until the doctor said in January that he doesn’t know what’s wrong or how to fix it, I was holding out. Call it denial or misguided hope but this has just now become real for me. I want you to know that I’m grieving. I’m numb and depressed and in pain. I’m alone in my grief as we all are when it comes. It’s hard to not obsess when you feel you have the right. I want you to know that I’m angry. This was the one thing that I hoped I would never have to face. I remember the moment I was introduced to the idea that this could happen. I was four or five and I overheard my parents talking about how sad it was that some couple couldn’t have children. I was shocked. “That’s a thing?” I thought. “That can happen?!” I stopped and pleaded to God- “I can handle anything God but PLEASE don’t make me face that! Please!” You see, as long as I can remember, I just wanted to sing and be a mom. My mom says I used to sing to my baby dolls and pretend to nurse them like I’m sure I saw her drape a blanket many times. I’m the oldest of five kids. And babies run in my family. I have 27 first cousins- just on my dad’s side. And that’s before you start counting their spouses and their kids. And of all of them my grandma says I was the one who was always holding and loving on the babies. This is my greatest fear come true. So I’m afraid. Afraid that this is robbing me of the joy and hope I had for this stage in my life. Afraid that by needing space from being a childcare giver or baby shower attendee, I’m losing the carefree loving nature that is in me. This is changing me. And I’m afraid of what I’m losing. I just hope this season doesn’t last too long.