This weekend, Bobby and I talked about infertility. In many ways, we're not in the same place. In fact, he wouldn't even consider us "infertile." He absolutely believes we will conceive on our own, in God's time. I admire his faith, and wish mine was that strong.
He doesn't research infertility like I do. He doesn't know what CD we're on, or keep track of when we should be having sex. He isn't consumed with the thoughts that we may never have a baby like I am. He's convinced we will.
We were in church one Sunday several months ago and calculated the number of married couples in our church that don't have kids/aren't pregnant. Actually, Bobby noticed this. He leaned over and whispered it to me--these are the infertility thoughts that consume him.
Three. There are three couples in our church of of 200+.
One couple is in their late thirties, and I don't know their story. I don't know if they are childless by choice or struggled with infertility.
The other couple is in their early-to-mid thirties and was open about trying to conceive when they first were married. She never got pregnant, and as far as I know, they never sought additional treatment.
The third couple is us. We are 25 years old.
After reading so many infertility blogs, I feel ridiculous. I am 25 years old (26 in early February). I am NOT old. I'm not even old in fertility years. But in Baptist Church Childbearing Years, I'm ancient. And that's why my struggle is so hard. Many of the couples in our church are younger than us. They're in the 19-24 range, with two kids. Most of my college friends who moved away and began flashy, exotic careers wouldn't even dream of having children until they hit 30. Many are 25-26 and working towards professorship. They'll consider children once they officially receive tenure.
My mom was 34 when she had my older sister, 37 when she had me. This is why my parents have never pushed us about giving them grandchildren. To be honest, I don't know my parents' full story. We don't have the kind of relationship where I feel I could ask about past miscarriages or infertility struggles. They married young--my mom 21, my dad 23. My dad was military and stationed in London. They moved around Europe for several years while he was serving, and I assume they didn't plan to have children during that time. However, after moving back to the States, they still didn't conceive for 10ish years. And I don't know why.
Of course, I'd like to know why--perhaps my mom's experience could help with my own struggle. And I'm sure my reluctance to ask them seems strange to those of you with close relationships to your mothers. We just don't have that. We've never been close, we've never shared that kind of personal information.
What Bobby sees in his family is a much different situation. His parents married young as well, his mom was 22, his dad 21. His mom had Bobby at 25 and his brother Steve at 27. Two years later, they divorced. In 1996, his dad remarried, and three and five years later (at ages 35 and 37) he had two more sons. His wife (Bobby's step mom) was 31 and 33. There was little pre-planning, no fertility treatment. I don't know how long they "tried" exactly, but they were only married for three years before that, and from everything they've said to us, I doubt they tried much before year two. Because Bobby's dad has produced four sons at different stages of his life, Bobby assumes he is fertile (and he's also convinced we will have two sons--but that's another story).
So this weekend, Bobby and I talked about my fears and worries, and I attempted to explain to him exactly how much having a baby consumes me. I think about it all. the. time. I always know what cycle day it is. I'm examining toilet paper for cervical mucous, I'm over-analyzing anything that could possibly be a symptom, and I'm googling like a total maniac.
His response: I think about it more than you know.
I love this man already, and those simple words flooded me with gratitude. We're in this together. For better, for worse. We already know we make a great couple without kids. No matter what, we'll be fine. We still may not be in the same place exactly, but that's okay. We're still on the same journey.