As I’ve mentioned before, my blog is segregated into two blogs. The Living Rich on a Basic Budget is a fun almost a whimsical way of living thrifty. This portion of the blog is a battle against infertility.
After the oophorectomy, I had to grieve a biological child I would never have. A sense of self was lost knowing there would never be a tiny human who shares similar characteristics. A life-long goal of a created thought or futuristic memory of the creation of someone is no longer an option. I have an implemental mindset; the thought of switching my mindset to a deliberative is frightening.
I’m walking into the journey of pregnancy blind. The subject is not light, and often carries a heavy burden; thus often a vast correlation to one’s mental health.
Although our goal is to be parents one day, here is an open letter to mourn the loss of being a “natural” mother…
My Dearest Grace or Gunnar,
The thought of you swirled my head since I was a small child. Playing “mommy”, I began to lay the foundation of wanting to be an actual mom of you one day. The planning of you continued when your daddy and I got married.
First, we decided we needed a baby bucket list. You did not come lightly; we weighed our options. A moment of being childless was only a brief thought before ending in a chuckle one late evening. In fact, in that very moment, we both dedicated and were determined to give you 100% of us. But first… we knew we needed to grow. Everything had to be perfect for your arrival; therefore, we grew. We grew our careers, education, core values as a family, and each other.
A few times during the course, I contemplated about retiring our baby bucket list. Patience is a virtue is a lesson I wish I never practiced, if I only knew then what I know now. We pursued and persisted throughout the years. Never less, we proceeded with THE plan.
Daddy was excited about you. We talked about the tiny feet running around the house. The laughter that would fill our hearts, the echo of chaos roaming thru our home. The tears, loss of a night’s rest, the sickness, the peacefulness. The milestones. The limitations. YOU. Who you would be. Yes, we already knew who you would be. A simple mix of us both. If I could only begin to interpret the amount of time dad and I explored your personality but meshing the both of ours together. Your father and I also determined since you were going to be a mix of us, you would not escape the need of wearing glasses. I’m sorry for your nose; there was no winning that one from either side. Your character would be astonishing, as you would be brave like your daddy, and humble like your mom. Your spelling would be horrible, and probably plagued with dyslexia. Intellectually above average, but socially awkward. A mild temperament. However, you would always be brave enough to stand up to bullies and what you believe in. You would have been taught your name is the only thing you have. You were going to be a leader. We’d make sure of that. After years, yes Grace/ Gunnar, YEARS of hunting we narrowed it down to: Grace for a girl and Gunnar for a boy. Grace / Gunnar four months ago, we checked the final thing off of our bucket list. We relocated from California to Idaho to start a family; to start a life with you.
We were ready. We were just concerned if you were ready for us.
One thing I forgot to account for, health. Two months ago, I felt a pulsation in my stomach. After a few very tiring days it was determined I have two very large masses on each of my ovaries. Nothing new. I was diagnosed with PCOS in my early 20’s. I’ve had two masses removed before, but this time was different. This time, the masses are large enough that the doctors will need to remove both of my ovaries. Sadly, harvesting my eggs, (i.e. you) could not and would not happen. I will forever be childless. I will never have the opportunity of conceiving a child with a mixture of your dad and myself. I won’t hear “Grace has your nose” or “Gunner has your smile”. Those words wont exist in my universe. I won’t be able to have an epiphany moment where I realize you are a tiny me. As you.. you are nothing now. You were once a thought or an idea. But now no more.
So Grace / Gunnar as I sit here and type this good-bye letter to you. The world will be a colder place without you; however, we will try to make it warmer again. You see, your father and I will graciously accept the fact of reality. You will not happen
A part of me has died, dad doesn’t understand why. Some days I feel less like a woman. I have opted out of baby showers, and evening being happy for my friend’s pregnancies.
Fret not, I somehow always wrangle myself back in. Dad and I decided to make this world a warmer place. If we, I mean I, cannot have a bio child, we’d do everything in our power to peruse parenthood. I’m unsure of the direction we will take but when that time comes, we will love. We will love him or her like we would have loved you. We will raise leaders, create a path of success. We are able to give love, guidance, and support to many children. Our home, heart, and life is now open to the possibilities thanks to you.
Thank you for creating a better version of ourselves.
As I mentioned above, this is an open letter to a bio child which I will never “create”. Depression was at a max during this tribute letter. I still struggle with morning a loss of natural motherhood. Our Journey to Pregnancy, regardless of how (i.e. surrogacy, egg donor, adoption, fostering, etc) is only in the beginning stages. I hope that you join me during this transitional time.