All too Familiar

Last month I got a wonderful call from a dear friend of mine.  She was going to be adopting a baby.  I was oh so happy for her and, of course, oh so sad for me. Before I lost my baby, I honest can’t remember being jealous of anyone (except those with freakishly high metabolisms).  I was one of the last of my friends to get married, but it never really hurt when another friend announced her engagement; I could be sincerely happy for them.  I could throw bridal showers, attend bachelorette weekends, and buy pieces of their China pattern.   And then my baby died, and I became so jealous of people with breathing babies and happy, naïve pregnancies where death was no part of the equation that sometimes I don’t recognize myself. 

After my friend called, it took a few days to work up genuine enthusiasm over her awesome news.  I prayed a lot about it, asked a few of my best girl friends to pray with me, and forced myself to ask my friend all the tiny details of her adoption.  And, by God’s grace, my jealousy quickly subsided and I got invested in this coming little girl.  I started believing in happy endings again.  I was so excited; I even started working on my plans to attend the baby shower, something I’d pretty much decided I would never do again. We spent afternoons walking and talking about cloth diapers, the high price of formula, and procedures they would have to follow the days after her arrival.  I am proud to say I was there for her the way she was there for me when I was expecting a baby when she so desperately wanted to be.  That’s what she deserved and I am so glad I found it in me to be that friend for her.

Then yesterday got all too familiar.  I got a text at school to call her when I could.  I knew what had happened as soon as I read it.  A call confirmed what I suspected; the birth mom that chose them just five weeks before changed her mind.  Three weeks before they would officially become parents, their world was turned upside down.  One minute, they’re counting down to maternity leave, 2am feedings, and a newborn photo shoot; and the next minute, all those dreams are over and there is nothing left to look forward to.  And it feels like there will never be anything to look forward to ever again.  And you feel stupid for believing that your dream would come true.  You feel silly for registering for a car seat you won’t be needing and envisioning a summer vacation with a baby that isn’t going to be yours after all.  You wonder what to do with all the stuff you bought in those moments of weakness when you thought you’d be a mom.  I know all too well how she feels. 

So why don’t I know what to say?  Why do I feel duped right along with her?  If anyone is supposed to know that there are no guarantees, it’s me.  If someone should’ve been reminding her to not count her chickens before they hatch, it should’ve been me.  I feel ridiculous for believing so much in this happiness before it proved itself.  More than anything, I just feel the same sadness I felt almost 7 months ago when the same thing happened to us. 

I’ve said a lot that I think I met this friend at the perfect time in my life.  We were fixing to get married and she and her husband were newly weds.  We started trying to have babies around the same time.  She tried for a year before learning of their infertility issues.  We got pregnant right away and miscarried. 9 months after that, we got pregnant again with Levi and lost him, too.  They went through two surgeries to increase their odds of conceiving only to find out that they wouldn’t even be candidates for IVF.  They chose to pursue adoption and now this has happened.  I hate to say “misery loves company” because it sounds hateful and bitter, but there’s no denying that there is comfort in knowing that you are not the only one for whom motherhood has not come easy. And so, I will be there for her the way she was there for me.  And we will wait for the babies God does want to us raise and we will find solace in knowing that we are not alone.