My almost-4-year-old's new bed was delivered a few days ago. His excitement over something so simple was palpable - a Big Boy Bed is something he's asked for for months (years, in kid time). He "helped" us with every detail of installing the bed frame, putting the mattresses on the frame, and making the bed. He even now sleeps through the night in his new room, because of this Big Boy Bed. But, I can't shake this deep sense of sadness.
This Big Boy Bed signifies so much more than my son growing up and needing space. We now have an Empty Baby Room. An empty rocking chair. An empty crib. I often find myself sitting on the floor of this Empty Baby Room in the middle of the night, searching for a baby to feed, to comfort.
This is what 2-1/2 years of infertility will do to a mom. 1-1/2 of years of blindly trying, wondering what's wrong. One year of painful and invasive fertility treatments and tests, each more discouraging than the last. Even though nature seems to suggest we are not meant to have more, my soul knows differently. My inner voice reminds me daily that I'm meant to have more children, which makes this journey all the more frustrating.
So I am left with a crib to take down, to neatly pack into the closet, as if to push this reminder out of sight. It feels like I'm giving up somehow, like I'm acknowledging that I've lost. I'm left to wonder, is this a painful reminder of what I don't have, or a beacon of hope for what I have dreamt of for years? You know what? I think the crib can wait for another day. Tonight, after I make sure my son is tucked safely in bed, I will take comfort in this Empty Baby Room. It may be painful at times, but it's also a reminder of the hope every infertile has with each cycle, each fertility treatment.
