Expectations vs Reality

Many women get knocked for growing up wanting to be a stay at home mom. Me – I never wanted to be a stay at home mom, but I don’t knock them – someone has to stay at home and ring in the new generation. What I did want - not just want, but what I did expect - is that someday I would be a mother.

Growing up, I never wanted to just be a stay at home mom. My mom’s example of being a wife was pretty awesome to me. During my (later) early years, my mom (pictured above) was the bread winner, putting my dad through seminary and then so he could focus full time on his job and getting us over to Europe. At the same time, she also home schooled me for a stretch and stayed on top of my brother’s education. Later, when we lived in Europe, it was never just my dad’s job or career, it was both of theirs. My dad made her a full partner in their work in the Czech Republic, even as she was a wife, mother, homemaker, hostess, educator and more.

Growing up, it never once occurred to me that my life wouldn’t be similar. I expected to graduate college, have a career of my own, and someday meet a man I’d marry, marry him, and start a family. These thoughts however were never in the forefront of my mind; I never had a 12 step plan to get there. It was just supposed to happen.

The years passed and things started falling apart. First, in college, away from my family, I struggled in school. Then, as I was starting to do better, my dad was diagnosed with cancer, and later was diagnosed terminal. Admittedly, I fell apart hard and it took me years to recover. After my fourth year in college, my expectation of graduating went down the drain with little more than a sigh…

For a few years I bounced around with various odd jobs. The one that got me through the first year after Dad died was working for the Portland TrailBlazers. I had two odd jobs with them that made ends meet and got me through the week. It was one of the best jobs I’ve ever had. I really felt a part of something. Then for a short time I went back to the college job I had, cashiering, but it was seasonal and didn’t last long. Later I got a job at a call center just with customer service. Learning those skills put me in a position to get the job I have now held for nine years and I am grateful to have to support us while my husband’s in law school.

It was at this job I met my husband. We met my first day of work, and started dating a few months later. Just over a year after we met, he proposed and I said yes. Overall, while we were dating we’d talked about everything a couple should talk about before they even get engaged. Plans for the future, financial life, philosophy, etc. We were agreeable or at least close in every matter. Except one had come up which he hadn’t thought of. Children.

A few months before we were engaged I was diagnosed with endometriosis, one of the consequences of it being it could make it more difficult for me to conceive. My then boyfriend had said he didn’t care, because having children wasn’t important to him. I had to back up a ton and explain having a family was really important to me. After some careful thinking on my boyfriend’s part, he agreed, if I wanted a family, he did too.

Four months after we were married, the entire idea of a family was put on hold. I nearly died. More of the story is here in Empty Arms, along with trials and tribulations of trying to conceive. I recently read a great post about what NOT to say to a woman who does not have kids. I wish everyone would read it and actually pay attention to the message it conveys.

It still hurts when people ask. I mean, I was married when I was 27, nearly 28. By the time were married a couple years people were asking if we were planning on having kids. See, I’d always thought that by the time I was 30 I’d at least be pregnant. I never wanted to be an older mom. One of the things I loved about my mom was that she was able to keep up with us with whatever activity we were doing.

Now I’ve been married coming up on seven years. Last October my husband and I went through a week of hell. For a week we were on a roller coaster. See, for a week I was pregnant, but actually, for that one week, I likely already wasn’t. For a day I actually allowed myself to look up my “due date” – July Fifth (yesterday) – and I even started browsing baby name websites again (something I had given up years earlier when it had become evident pregnancy wasn’t likely), trying to find some unique names and figure out what to avoid (like the top 100 most popular).

During that week I went to several doctor appointments. I heard over and over about how “old” I already am for pregnancy (I had just turned 34), I got told I was pregnant, I wasn’t pregnant, and even “I’m not sure why they told you that you weren’t.” Until finally, it was clear, any evidence of my extremely short lived pregnancy was gone; the hormone in my system had disappeared. And with it, any hope I had left of having a family.

For a few months afterwards I held out some hope – maybe that pregnancy didn’t take, but perhaps, just maybe, it was just the beginning. The first seed, so to speak. A few months later I was devastated when my period was so late that it started after it should have been over already. Later, I just became numb.

Some of you may ask well, what about going to see a specialist or even adoption? Well, after three surgeries for my endometriosis, multiple tests saying my tubes are clear, pictures that say everything on my side “looks” normal, verifying that my husband could “populate the US if he wanted to”, going to see a specialist just seems like it would be encouraging more heartbreak. Sure, I’d LOVE to at least consult with one, but it costs money. Money that we don’t have and insurance doesn’t cover fertility. My husband’s a law student, we don’t have a dual income right now and by the time we’d be financially stable, it would be too late. In a lot of cases, it’s already too late as I’m almost “too old” for the fertility doctors anyway. Pretty much same goes with adoption. While I’m not against it, I’m not excited about being on a waiting list for years, and spending thousands of dollars we don’t have, for a “maybe”.

It makes it hard to watch family and friends start their own families, and continue their families. I love my nieces and my cousins’ kids and really enjoy being a part of their lives, a part of their family; I’d love to have my own family. But here I am in my mid-thirties finally seeing that what I assumed my future would be just isn’t going to happen. Now, as I adjust to my new reality, instead of our future as a family, I’m planning our future as a couple. Supporting him in his career and watching it take off, getting into my hobbies more hardcore; photography, reef keeping, brewing beer (yes, I know I don’t like drinking it, but for some reason I have a yen to create it), vacationing to Europe again and maybe even opening my own coffee shop/bookstore one day (yes, I know bookstores are dying out, but I have a plan).

All of these plans are something I look forward to, I just wish that I hadn’t had what I always assumed would be my future come so close, only to slip away as if it never was. I wish I knew why October had to happen, why I’ll never get through another July without going “what if?” Why I got to think, for a brief moment in time, that I'd actually get to know what it feels like to be a mom.

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