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My one and only
I do not like green jello.
In fact, I loathe it.
It, and all of its multi-hued cousins, with or without chunks of pineapple, carrots, or mini marshmallows.
And yet, I am a card-carrying member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. A Mormon.
Here are a few other ways I do not fit the stereotypical Mormon (jello) mold:
• I don’t particularly care for ice cream. I find it to be just okay. And we rarely have any in the house.
• I don’t use the mock swear words: flip, fetch, or ‘oh my heck’.
• Not only did I not attend BYU, I never even wanted to.
• I am generally on time for meetings.
• And, here’s the big one: I have only one child.
Early in our marriage, when W and I were discussing how many children we’d like to have, we both said five. Because, well, we wanted to keep things manageable.
We hadn’t even celebrated our first anniversary when the questions began.
Q: When are you going to get pregnant?
A: Oh, I’m not really sure.
Q: What are you guys waiting for?
A: Well, we haven’t been married all that long yet.
Q: You know, you’re not a real family until you have children.
A: Um, is that a question?
Q: So, when-
A: WOULD YOU JUST LEAVE IT ALONE!
But to give ourselves time to grow as a couple we had made the rational decision to wait a while before starting our family. You know, awhile. Like the four entire months we waited before I went off the pill and we began planning our exciting little future.
Yet, month after month, I got a bit more worried when that future failed to materialize. And those annoying questions just kept coming.
That’s how W and I came to be strapped into the fun and exciting rollercoaster ride called Infertility.
Oh and it was fun, let me tell you. I’m not sure if it was an after effect of the birth-control pills or the because I was so keyed up about getting pregnant, but my body started playing tricks on me. My once-reliable little monthly visit started arriving later and later. My usual 29 days became 35, then 40, eventually only arriving a day or two after taking a pregnancy test; always one line, never two. I was drowning in a sea of negative EPTs, basal thermometers, charts, and unsolicited advice. Whoo-hoo!
“Try propping your hips up with a rolled up towel, after, you know…”
“Are you taking your temperature?”
“Go without sex for a couple of weeks. That will make you both really potent.”
“Have W wear an ice-pack.”
“Just relax. As soon as you stop trying to get pregnant, you will.”
Huh?
Eventually we got our family doctor involved and he ran some tests.
A couple of days later, I was at work, but W was at home nursing a nasty cold. He was the one who answered the doctor’s phone call.
I had just finished lunch: leftover meatloaf from the night before. I was rinsing my dish in the breakroom sink when I heard the phone ring on my desk. I walked over and picked it up; W’s voice cracked as he gave me the test results.
“…little to no chance of conceiving on our own…maybe get another opinion…I’m so sorry…”
I walked, in a daze, to my supervisor’s office and informed her that I had received some news from home and needed to take the rest of the day off. Looking down, I saw that that I was still holding my tuperware lunch container. It was dripping all over the carpet.
Over the course of the next few years W and I consulted specialists. We succumbed to more painful and humiliating tests. We even tried surgery to correct the problem. We cried. We prayed. And we learned to lean on each other for support.
After nearly four years of riding that hellish rollercoaster, we pulled into the loading area and were given the chance to ride again or exit. The specialist confirmed that the surgery was not successful. In fact they had discovered more problems. We could do some more tests, try some new procedures, or just stop.
We bolted for the exits, with relief.
On the drive home from that appointment, we chose to adopt. We called an agency that very afternoon.
Eight months and several small miracles later, our perfect, beautiful daughter was placed into our waiting arms. (Once again, thank-you, K.)
There is so much more I could share with you here. Like how wonderful adoption is. What a courageous, selfless, loving young woman brought our baby into this world. How five pounds, three ounces can move the world. How she healed our broken hearts.
But this is a blog-post, not a book. I’ll save those things for another time.
Before our girl by was even two years old, the questions began again.
“When are you going to get another one?”
We truly didn’t know. W and I had thought we’d begin the adoption process again when our daughter was 18 months. That way if we got a baby quickly our children wouldn’t be too close together. And if it took us a couple of years, they’d still be close in age.
But eighteen months came and went. We wanted another child, but we weren’t ready. It just didn’t feel right. We decided to revisit the idea when our baby turned two.
That time we actually got the paperwork and started filling it out, but it still didn’t feel right. It felt wrong. We put it off for another year.
Shortly before our girl turned three we tried again. This time we made all the way past the homestudy and onto a waiting list.
Every night our daughter prayed that God would give her a baby sister. W and I added our prayers to hers, but it still didn’t feel quite right.
We did want another child. Sometimes a little. Sometimes a lot. We were on another kind of rollercoaster.
Two years passed. Our girl decided she no longer wanted a baby sister.
And W and I? Bit by bit, ever so gradually, we came to the decision that ‘now’ is still not the time. We don’t know why, but it’s true. We withdrew our names from the waiting list.
Still I struggled. I watched my friends having their second, then third babies. I told myself “someday, when the time is right”. Eventually someday turned into maybe, and then maybe-not, but at times it still hurt.
One day about a year ago, my little girl and I were snuggled up together under my grandmother’s blue blanket. On my lap lay Antoine De Saint-Exupery’s “The Little Prince”. I wasn’t thinking about anything other than the sweet smell of my little girl’s hair and the warmth of her next to me as I read aloud.
“To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like [any other]… But in herself she is more important than all the hundreds of other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we have saved to become butterflies) because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.”
That passage took my breath away. I looked down at my girl and knew.
I do not need a bush full of roses. I do not need five. I do not even need two.
And even if one day my maybe-not turns into definitely-not, this will still be true:
I have my rose, unique in all the world. And she is enough.
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11 Responses to “My one and only”
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Once upon a time there was a Heidi…
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Beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing this personal story. You and “Bob” and “Abby” make a lovely family.
That totally made me cry. In a good way. I too am mormon, I also come to meetings on time, do not like jello of any color and don’t like ice cream enough to have it in the house. My husband was adopted. We started the process a bunch of times during the first five years of our marriage and it just never felt right. We had just seen a couple more doctors in the Salt Lake area who said the chances of us having our own was pretty much nil so we decided to send Mike to law school. We got pregnant two months after that. We now have two. We feel good with two and now that my youngest is over a year old everyone is asking when the next will come. There will be no next. We feel good. Our two kids are wonderful and our house feels full. And for the first time since the first year of our marriage we’re worrying about birth control. How ironic.
Thanks for the post.
Your daughter’s a cutie.
Thanks for this post–you have such a great way of expressing yourself. It’s amazing all of the different paths our lives take–and how one is not better than the other just different–and truly what is right for one is not right for another. I don’t fall into the typical mold either. Never have, never will, and I am comfortable with that—it’s not always been comfortable for me, but now it is.
I love hearing that story from you. I know that if anyine gives me a hard time about not being married I can always give them your number to help in the defence of not being apart of some “Mormon” ways. ) I also do not care for jello. But Ben and Jerry’s…..
That is awesome
I always wanted to know and never asked. My kids have an auntie Heidi so anytime you want a madhouse let me know! =D Love you!
That’s a real sweet story. Thank you for sharing it. I love “The Little Prince” and it fits really nicely into this experience.
I, too, unlike many of my Mormon brothers and sisters, hate green jell-o, loathe root beer, and do not think we should always say “priesthood” when referring to men (i.e, the priesthood will set up the chairs…..:)
I’m so sad that you’re moving. I’m really going to miss you!
Thank you for sharing your story with us Heidi. Your experience really drives home the principle that we have NO clue what people are going through. It is a great reminder to be a little less judgemental and keep our questions regarding family size (whether it’s “when are you having one?”, “when are you having more?”, or “why do you have so many?”) to ourselves. If we do that, there will be a lot less hurt going around our respective wards. Thanks again for sharing.
Thanks for sharing those beautiful words. I love The Little Prince quote. I too am LDS, hate green Jello and would rather not partake of any at all. I cannot eat ice cream and I have only given birth to one child. Charity arrived after my 6 year rocky marriage and three years of infertility within that marriage, my remarriage to a wonderful man, and a scary, sick, seven month pregnancy, followed by a slow recovery from the c-section, a bout with autism after vaccines were administered to my perfect baby girl.
It took me three years to get up the courage to try again and three more years to finally become pregnant, only to suffer from extreme morning sickness and then a ridiculously painful-in-every-way miscarriage. I’d had enough.
We are in process of adopting another daughter. She is 10 as well as our own Charity. After eight months, I wonder if she’ll ever be able to overcome the side-effects of living the first nine years of her life with people who didn’t teach her how to behave and didn’t care enough to invest any time in her. She is a lovely girl who does well academically, when she feels like it. I still wonder if we can make a difference in her future, but we’ll give it our best.
Thank you so much for writing this. My mother-in-law saw your post and sent it to me. I too am not the typical “Mormon” girl. I too heard, and still hear “so when are you going to have another?” “Are you sure you want Morgan to be an only child?” My daughter is the most wonderful gift given to me.
Thank you!
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