A loss for how to react when I find out that another friend is having her second baby.
A loss for how to deal with another month gone by with no hope, making it a total of 56 hopeless months now.
A loss for what to do when everyone else is so busy with their little ones and having play dates and bedtime schedules.
A loss for how to hold back my tears when everyone loves the baby, but kicks my puppy out because she stinks and bites.
A loss for what to say when another person suggests that we should just adopt.
A loss for how to act like it's no big deal when someone asks, "You have three kids now, right?!" "Nope, that's my brother."
A loss for how to learn to deal with another childless Mother's Day.
A loss for how to fake a "thank you" when even my hygienist, after asking me if I had any kids, reassures me that I'm still young and that it'll all work out. (Am I wearing a sign on my forehead that reads CAN'T HAVE KIDS. GIVE ME YOUR CONDOLENCES...?)
A loss for how to handle the loneliness I feel.
A loss for what it would be like to have a little girl who wants me to put pigtails in her hair, or a boy Coulton can throw a ball to, or children I could take swimming in the hot Arizona heat on a Tuesday afternoon.
Not being able to have a baby is one giant, gaping loss.
I'm also at a loss for fully comprehending Heavenly Father's love for me- I'm just one girl out of a trillion people, yet He loves me personally.
A loss for completely making sense of the Atonement- that the Savior knows exactly how I feel.
A loss at being able to explain the love I have for my unborn children. I think it's that love I have for them that causes me so much pain and heartache.
“The risk of love is loss, and the price of loss is grief..." –Hilary Stanton Zunin
