8 days.

..is when my baby should be being born. My due date would have been August 12th. The nursery would be ready, the dresser would be lined with freshly laundered baby clothes, the bottles would be washed and put away and I'd be enjoying my last few days with life inside me because I know this doesn't come easy for me and I know that this pregnancy would most likely be my last. This was my first miscarriage and I know girls who miscarry on the regular, who can't carry a baby to term to save their life and I thank god everyday for at least not allowing me to get pregnant rather than getting pregnant and having it ripped away from me. I know what that feels like and I know that I couldn't handle that on a regular basis, I know my problems are small in comparison to some fertility problems but all of us infertiles share that same common thread, of wanting badly to be a mother and no matter how unrelated our journey's are, we've walked in each other's shoes, we know the path. I try to see the 'silver lining' in it all who even knows what that really means? Lily is starting pre-school in three weeks and that in itself is more expensive than daycare, so maybe we wouldn't have been able to afford a new baby, maybe I'll never know the 'silver lining' to my issues. Maybe I'm grateful for the things I don't know, that I'll never know and maybe one day, I can look back and in a moment, realize why, why things don't go as planned. The world is funny that way, things have a way of working themselves out and its a long time before you can appreciate it, accept it and see the bigger picture. I'm trying really hard to live in the now, take each day as it comes and appreciate what I have, for exactly what it is. I have an amazing support system, I really can't thank god enough for putting these few ladies in my life. Strength comes in numbers and they have proven to me month after month, that this battle I'm fighting, I'm not fighting it alone. I have a great job and though its crazy right now, there is nothing but advancement from here. I have a wonderful husband who provides and loves me and I have my reason for breathing, Lily Grace, who is turning into this very independent little girl, and its awesome. She's always been very independent, I think I fed her with a spoon for maybe a week before she decided she could do things herself. She's entering the I can pick what I want to wear stage and for the most part, I let her. I let her express herself in whatever way she wants, lately its been 'pretty dresses' and 'crazy hair' and if you know my girl, you know crazy hair. I'm learning to let go of little insignificant things like pretty bows in her hair and letting her be exactly who she is. She's starting preschool, followed by ballet and it's a little bittersweet to see her leave her babysitter that she's been going to since she was six weeks old but I'm so excited for her to be challenged, I know she'll do well. I know she'll rock that pink leotard, crazy hair and all. Part of me is inexplicably happy to see her growing up and moving forward and the other part of me is rooted to her infancy and dependency and while a mother will never fully let that go, I think I'm finding it a lot harder because the memories of late nights, baby smell and little focusing eyes though forever, are still faded. And those baby memories may be the only ones I get. Behind every infertiles eyes, there is an unseen strength. Behind every infertiles heart, is a bruised soul and behind every interfiles smile, is a silent grief and one hell of a story.

"You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, "I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along." . . . You must do the things you think you cannot do."