For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. --Psalm 139:13-16
I started reading a book that was passed along to me by a dear friend who understands this phase of life I'm in. For the record, I hate the word infertility. Using it sounds like I'm characterizing something as not possible. Unlikely. OK. But I have too many friends with stories to tell me completely possible. Even so, I liked some of what I've read in the early part of the book.
In the book "Infertility: A Survival Guide for Couples and Those Who Love Them," Cindy Lewis Dake (and her husband) tells her story and includes pieces of other women's stories. In the first chapter, one women says: "... I have wondered, 'What have I done that would make God not give me a baby? Am I somehow unfit, and he's protecting an innocent life from me? Is there some sin I haven't confessed?'"
Then Dake goes on to say: "Infertility cuts us off from each other, but mostly it cuts us off from the self we used to know and the dreams we grew up with. ... Unconsciously, part of my dream was the expectation that I'd be in control of where, when and how I became a mother."
Apparently I'm not alone in the emotions associated with trying and hoping.
"Women have a tendency to find their value in the roles they assume. Where men often find value in the work they do, their wives find value in who they see themselvesto be. ... Yet God never once said that he places value on what we do, who we are, what roles we manage to secure, or the number of children we produce."