I hate admitting this, but sometimes I forget that we’re going through this together. Don’t get me wrong, I know there’s no way I could manage any of this infertility stuff without you by my side. It’s just that you handle it so much differently than I do.
Sometimes, I’m grateful for that. You calm me down on the hardest days and remind me that everything will work out. You provide balance and endless optimism. Other times, I’m somewhere between annoyed and jealous. I feel like you have an ability to be content with where we are and confident about our future and that makes me feel like I’m ungrateful and pessimistic. I know you don’t actually think that. You know that I love our life, our baby girl, and that if we were always a family of three, I would be happy. But, still I want more.
You, somehow, are much more accepting that what will be, will be. It’s almost like you’re simultaneously giving up control while doing everything you can to make sure we have another baby. I envy you for being able to do that. You have unwavering confidence that our family will grow, while I, as you know, can’t stop myself from thinking about all the “what if” scenarios.
Sometimes, our different approaches and personalities make communicating through the bad days and the doubt difficult. You’re a fixer by nature, so when I just want to vent all my fears, frustrations and doubt and have you listen, I get upset when you want to say or do something to change what I’m feeling. As much as I sometimes want you to just sit there and listen, I know that there’s times I need you to counter my negativity. There’s days I try to think more like you. It’s almost like you can silo the infertility part of our life from the rest of it. Not because you forget, or because it doesn’t affect you, but because you can just process it differently. I wish I could do that, too.
At the end of the day, even though we cope with infertility and the uncertain future of our family in different ways, I know that there’s no one else I’d rather have on my team than you. So just in case I don’t say it enough, or the uncertainty makes me forget how lucky I truly am, I want to tell you – Thank you.
Thank you for the holding my hand. For never missing a doctor’s appointment. For all the shots you’ve given me and all the shots you will give me. For telling me not to worry about the money, that you have it under control and for actually having it under control. Thank you for, when I’m going through treatment, making sure that I literally didn’t worry about anything else. For arranging girl time to distract myself. Thank you for being brave and optimistic, and for forcing me to be even when it’s hard. Thank you for being the kind of dad that makes me want to have more babies with you. For putting me, our daughter and our family first, always.