• Ashley

The Little Things


How can you possibly miss something you never knew?


Easy. Infertility does that.


Bedtime routines, rules about sharing, meal time frustration, good morning hugs, good night hugs, making memories, a baby brother looking up to his big brother, teaching manners, teaching new words, knowing their favorite food, inside jokes with your partner about parenting, cuddles when they're sad, watching personalities evolve, learning and loving their quirks.


After spending a sweet evening with my sister, BIL (brother in law if you don't speak shorthand), and their 2 kids - I was hyper aware of all these little things. Watching their family do family life. Things that seem so ordinary and commonplace. Things that come and go without notice. Unless you're grieving that fact that you'll never have them.


After our 2nd failed IVF, I've been on a journey of healing. The type of healing that has nothing to do with having a baby. Part of that healing is in just honoring my feelings - even when they hurt.


Pre-IVF me would have tried to talk myself out of being sad about this. Tried being the key word. My inner dialogue would have gone something like this:


Get it together. You can't mope about this. Nobody would understand so maybe you're just making a big deal out of nothing

Now that I've lived through the unimaginable, my thinking has evolved:


~ I CAN mope about this. This is hard.

~ There ARE people who understand.

~ I'm NOT making a big deal out of nothing. Infertility is not nothing.

~ I don't have to get it together. I can let myself fall apart.


Whatever you're going through - let your thinking evolve. No judgement and no shoulds.


How would you comfort your best friend? Your sister? Yourself? What would happen if compassion - comfort - love - understanding was the same for all?


My guess is that you could offer that to your best friend, your sister. But probably don't give it as freely to yourself.


That's what I'm practicing today. Offering compassion, comfort, love, and understanding to myself as I sit here. Grieving the little things I never knew.