It Must Be the Water

Provo is a very odd place. I suppose I could stop there while everyone nods in silent agreement, but I feel compelled to explain myself. I'm 31, have been married nearly 8 years, and have one not-quite-two-year-old daughter; in most parts of the world this would be considered quite normal, but around here I'm way behind the curve. Most of the women I meet who are around my age have three or four (or sometimes more) children, and I still can't wrap my head around the fact that nearly half of the women I see in grocery stores are pregnant. It really must be the water. Or maybe the air. Or something.

(Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I am nearly 13 weeks pregnant with our second child, but, as with all the other fantastic women on this blog, getting there has not been easy. My husband and I tried for about three years before we had our first; it was only after a wonderful doctor properly diagnosed me as having PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome) and prescribed the correct medication that my daughter made her way into the world. We were blessed to conceive this baby much more quickly because we already know the issues we face and how to treat them. Thank you, thank you, Dr. Ivey-Crowe.)

When I look around at the many expectant mothers here in Provo I assume that most of them are excited to be bringing another life into the world. But I do wonder if some of them fully comprehend the miracle that is occuring within their bodies. I will admit that I do not like being pregnant; my first pregnancy was tough for various reasons, and this one is following suit. But I am always cognizant of the fact that something incredible is happening here. I look at my toddler and contemplate the fact that she started as nothing but two tiny cells; now here she is, approaching two, full of personality, independence, stubborness, and fun. She's her own little person, completely and totally.

I like to think that my experience with infertility has made me more aware of this utter miracle; often, the harder we work for something, the less likely we are to take it for granted. It will never be easy for me to have babies, but I'm grateful that the solution to my problems is relatively simple. I will always need medication in order to conceive children, so the label of "infertile" will always be with me. But I no longer begrudge that label because it has helped me to recognize my children for the miracle they really are.