THE FLOOD

On Sunday, the day after our anniversary, I awoke in a funk, proving once again what a leaky vessel I truly am. With the excitement of our celebration behind us, I had nothing to distract me from dwelling on my current reality: After three months of targeted trying, we are still not pregnant.

I moped around all day. Philip asked me several times what was wrong, but I didn't know how to articulate it. I was just down. At least I'm not hysterically crying like last month, I thought to myself. That's an improvement.

At some point in the afternoon, Philip took a call from a friend. Later, he approached me as I was glumly pulling laundry out of the dryer. "I need to tell you something," he said solemnly. His news: Some friends of ours, who are actually trying to avoid pregnancy right now, accidentally conceived. The friends had called because they care about me and wanted me to know, but didn't know how to tell me, as they sensitively assumed it would be difficult news for me to receive.

When Philip delivered this revelation to me, I wish I could tell you I reacted calmly, rationally, appropriately. But instead, I immediately started sobbing like a total maniac. The jealousy, the anger, the fear, the confusion all welled up in me so fast and viscerally that there was no stopping the flood. Almost as quickly, a wave of shame washed over me for feeling so selfish, which only made me cry harder. So much for keeping my emotions in check this month.

What is God doing? Why do some people become pregnant when they don't even want to be, while I want to be and can't achieve it? It doesn't make any sense, and of course, I want things to make sense. Philip and I are emotionally ready. We're financially stable. We're healthy. We've had a good many years to tenderly develop our infant marriage into a more mature one. We seem like perfect candidates for parenthood.

Of course, we haven't been trying that long, but nevertheless, the various fears come at me like arrows ...

What if there's something medically wrong with me or Philip or both of us?
What if we waited too long to even start trying?
What if I get so resentful toward friends who have children that I ruin the friendships?
What if God thinks my marital relationship isn't strong enough for Philip and I to be good parents?
What if God thinks I'll be too helpless with a child?
What if God doesn't think those things, but our friends think God thinks those things?
What if God is trying to teach me something? What is it? Why don't so many other people have to learn it? Can't I learn it some other way that's not so difficult?
Am I being naive if I believe God has some perfect timing He's waiting for or some greater plan I just can't see right now?

Now, as the menstrual hormones begin to subside, the fog in my head begins to clear. Hope returns, almost supernaturally. Miraculously, the fears retreat to a more remote corner of my mind, and I can again bear to read various friends' baby-centric statuses on Facebook. And when it comes to our couple friends who accidentally conceived, I find myself happy for them and ready to hear their whole story.