Operation K.N.O.C.K.E.D. U.P. Week One: Part One

In my blog on Sunday, HERE I briefly touched on my desire to become a mother.

I debated going that way with my blog. I was going to write about my mother, about what an crazy journey it must have been for her to be a single parent and disabled and trying to make ends meet. To make a life for us. Make memories. Help form and mold me into the woman I am today.

But that is her story to tell.

If I am going to stay true to my blog, my story, I need to write from my perspective and choose to be brave. To write about the things that I want to talk about but sometimes cannot find the words.

I did not know if I was ready to share my story though, for many reasons.

I felt nervous and anxious. Correction, I feel nervous and anxious.

When we expose what we truly want, what we truly desire, it makes us most vulnerable.

Declaring what sets your heart alight with the fire of your soul stands you emotionally naked in front of your friends, your readers, your family.

Allowing them to be part of your journey opens up so many possibilities.

Wonderful possibilities of people showing their kindness, showing their joy to you, offering to be your support or motivation. It allows people to open to you about their struggles, about their pain, and in a weird twist of events, draws us closer to those who have been through the same struggles.

It also invites discussion, debate, commentary for people to weigh in on our choices, our decisions in life. It can allow people to feel they have the right to comment, to pick apart your dreams and desires.

Sometimes people with well meaning hearts say the most hurtful things, telling you that 'you don't really want kids' or 'you'll be as tired as I am don't do it' or 'why not just adopt or foster' or 'maybe you weren't meant to be a parent'.

For those of you who have said those things to people, stop it. Stop it now. If it is because you have learned those words and reactions by those in your social circle,it does not make it right.

Those words and phrases do not help a woman feel better. They do not lift the spirits of a woman who feels broken, who feels like a defect, who no longer feels like a woman because she has the inability to do what a woman is born with a uterus to do-give life.

You can however,when a friend who is telling you their infertility problems, say that you are there for them through their journey, that you love them no matter what, that you will be there to listen and talk when she wants to-and choose not to simply shush her away with some simple positive quip.

I haven't opened up about this as well, because I do not want to seem like a whiner.

I know that seems silly, but I personally do not like to share my battles or my triumphs too publicly. I feel like a show off or an attempt for attention. But I feel with my writing that this is cathartic for me.

I enjoy writing about things I am passionate about. What better venue is there for me to get my feelings, emotions, disasters, successes out of my system than pounding the keyboard with my stubby little fingers?

For me there is not.

I have been with my husband since 2001. We got married in 2006. It is 2014 and we have no children.

We have watched beautiful friends of ours welcome amazing gifts into this world, some surprises others planned intricately with the help of science, prayer and positivity and we have waited in the wings.

He would probably rather have me tell you how he can gut animals and fish, and live off the land, and how manly he is, and how he is a good shot and....sorry I am running out of cliches of how to define someone's manhood-but you get the point.

Although he is extremely manly and basically a lumberjack in his quiet-natured self, he is the sweetest man I know.

Every time I get my period, he understands my pain.

Every time I linger a little longer in the baby section at Target, he doesn't say a word.

Every time I hug someone younger a little longer and harder than I normally would who tells me they are pregnant-he hugs me harder and longer than he ever has in my life.

He loves me.

He accepts me broken and fat and weird and goofy. He doesn't get my art tastes sometimes but hey, no one is perfect, I don't get his soccer obession to be quite honest but it is what it is.

There is no one I would want to have a baby with more than my husband.

Yet, my body has not cooperated.

It has been rageful with my menstrual cycles, literally lasting up to three weeks, it does not like to ovulate, it does not have the right amount of progesterone that my body needs--basically my body hasn't been very nice with my hormones.

I have been having these issues, on and off since 2006. Probably sooner than that, but that is when I got dediciated to my issues at hand but then life happened and other things became priority...and now I am back on top of my game.

So.

I recently seen a new OB/GYN in the last couple weeks and she has given me some answers and basically hope.

She diagnosed me with PCOS. Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome.

And we have a plan that actually benefits all of me and not just my baby making parts.

However, this blog has run way too long as is, so please tune in tomorrow when I post part two of Operation K.N.O.C.K.E.D. U.P. and find out what the letters in the acronym stand for ;)

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