The Long Road to Motherhood

May 2019

   Two weeks before my twenty-first birthday, I married my first husband. We had been married for a couple of years when we decided it was time to start a family. We had no idea what struggles lay ahead.

   We tried for two years but had no success. It was time to find out if there was a problem with one or both of us. It turned out the problem was me. I had endometriosis and polycystic ovary syndrome.

   My course of treatment involved expensive medications. One caused my body to go into temporary menopause. It was supposed to “cure” my endometriosis. Menopause is no picnic when it’s supposed to happen. I was in my mid-twenties at that time.

    Fertility drugs were prescribed for a few years. My doctor at the time would raise the dosage periodically. They didn’t work.

   We were finally referred to a clinic for artificial insemination. It was an expensive, time consuming, and stressful ordeal. I had to have hormone injections on a regular basis. My  husband would collect a sperm sample. I'd have to keep the specimen warm and go to the clinic. There the sample would be implanted in me with a long alien looking syringe.  We went through that process every month for a year. Still no baby.

   We had one other option. In vitro fertilization would cost thousands of dollars and there was still no guarantee that it would work. We had some friends who tried in vitro. It worked initially but a miscarriage left them broken hearted. They later tried again and had a beautiful daughter.

   After years of treatment, I had had enough. I couldn’t do it anymore. I was almost thirty years old when we chose to stop all attempts to have a biological child. We decided to adopt instead.

   We applied with Christian Homes in Abilene, Texas in January and were accepted as adoptive parents by June. We didn’t expect to be chosen by a birth mother for some time.  We knew it could take a year or longer.

   I was at school one September afternoon, Friday the 13th to be exact, running off copies for the next week when my name was called on the P.A. system. I had a phone call in the office.

   Imagine my surprise when the woman on the other end of the line told me that she was from Christian Homes and that we had a son!  We were to pick him up the following Monday. There are no words to describe the excitement and joy. I’m told that I laughed and cried at the same time.

   I called my husband immediately. He was out of town with some of his friends for a golfing trip. He was as thrilled as I was.

   Then panic set in. We weren’t ready. The room was ready, but we had no baby furniture. We had no clothes, no bottles, no diapers, nothing!

   My sister-in-law and I started shopping. The phrase shop until you drop wasn’t just a joke for us that weekend. By the time we finished, we had enough of the basics that I felt more confident about bringing our son home.

   The day we went to pick up our son is one that I’ll never forget. Both our families were there to meet him. My husband and I met him first. We waited in a small room for him and his birth mother.  His birth mother handed him to me after she said her goodbyes. I still cry tears of joy when I think about that day.

   My husband and I had planned to wait eighteen months before applying to adopt another child. God had other plans.

   Six months later, I was playing with my son while in the doctor’s office. I had gone in for a sinus infection and for some reason, the doctor ordered a pregnancy test.

   The nurse came in and told me it was positive. I said, “What?” then it dawned on me. I was pregnant.

   A sonogram was ordered to make sure it was pregnancy and not something terrible. I can still remember watching my baby with awe. There on the screen my child was bouncing around as if on a trampoline.  It turned out I was three months pregnant with a son. Shock, excitement, and joy all rolled into one. Again, I cry happy tears when I remember that moment.

    I recall thinking on the day he was born, "Did I really have a baby? After all these years, is he really mine?" 

   My sons are twelve months and twelve days apart. I’ve heard people say that, “you can’t love an adopted child as much as you love a biological child.” There has never been a statement more false. I love both my sons. One was chosen and one was a miracle.

   In that short span of time, and at the age of thirty-one, I went from having no children to having an infant and a one year old. I wouldn't trade those days for anything.

   My boys are grown men now. Sometimes they still joke about being the chosen one and the miracle baby.

   They are worth everything that I went through and then some. I love them more than I ever thought humanly possible. I am incredibly blessed and deeply proud to be their mom.

   

   

My boys at six months old

The three of us in 2012

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