{bitter}sweet

There was a time when anything related to a child could set me to tears. I avoided the baby/child sections in department stores. I didn’t do baby showers. I ducked out of conversations about poop and ear infections. ToysRUs was a No-Go Zone.

I didn’t do all these things because I despised babies. The crushing ‘hope deferred’ (Prov. 13:12) of infertility is so multi-faceted that the struggle to be around children despite our longing to have children can cause confusion to those who have never experienced infertility. Until you’ve walked that road and realize that every baby item stares at you with questions unanswered.

A sippy cup sets us to tears because we wonder whether our child would love apple or peach juice best. A crib set we love remains on the shelf because we have no reason to build a nursery. We crumble in the diaper aisle of the drugstore knowing that the coupons we had expired over a year ago. So many moments scattered throughout the fabric of a normal day can remind us of what hope and long for. So many ‘What ifs’ and ‘Will I evers’ with no answers in sight.

I have to say with relief and joy that while I still feel the sting of grief occasionally, the oppressive weight of sorrow is gone. I can meander through the baby department now. ToysRUs is now just expensive, not painful. I still haven’t been to a baby shower, but it doesn’t feel as daunting, nor something akin to torture. As I lower the protective hedge about my heart I realize most days I hardly need it.

Occasionally, as I prepare food, I catalogue my health. I realize what I can do now that I couldn’t do before. I highlight the positive choices I currently make and compare them to past choices. I’ll do the same while I grocery shop. Aisles I was normally drawn to I don’t even enter. And sometimes while doing this and I see something that reminds me of the children we do not have, I feel something I can’t quite put my finger on.

It’s just a twinge, but it’s there. And it’s bittersweet.

I always dreaded the thought of being a fat mom. I worried about the thought of having children who faced a lifelong struggle with weight like I have because I didn’t model healthy living to them. I wanted to be the mom who could run after them in the backyard on hot afternoons with the garden hose, keep up with them on bike rides, and show them amazing vistas only seen after a long, hard hike. The thought of bringing up children bound by my compulsive overeating was a looming mountain of regret and shame waiting to happen.

Except... I’m healthy now.

As much joy as we have in being a complete family of two, that twinge sets off a quiet hum of ‘What if…’ I know the work I’m doing to improve my health is not pointless just because I can't be a healthy mom. My health is for me first; my ability to be fruitful in the Lord’s kingdom. And as much as I believe that the Lord planned for our family to be His design, not ours, it makes me wonder. There in that twinge is a bittersweet mingling of grief and joy… so closely intertwined that I cannot separate one from the other.

I suppose, in many ways, that twinge is yet another marker of our fallen, broken world. Despite our cup overflowing, longing exists.  Despite days of brilliant, colourful joy, there are bleak, grey days of sorrow.  I can experience great joy in healing (both in terms of my health and the sorrow inherent to infertility) while at the same time bearing the scar of a lost dream.  What a blessing that we can view these dichotomies through the eyes of faith.

For that is truly sweet indeed.