‘Stickin with It’
There I was, squeezin a small bit of my wife’s belly fat about to insert a needle full of hormones wondering what in the world I was going to do if this doesn’t work…
1987
It all started when I was about 10 years old. Someone asked me if I was gonna have a family one day and I proudly announced that I would have 4 children!
2008
Fast forward 21 years later and after one miscarriage and 2 failed IVF attempts, we were now starting to wonder if we’d even have one. The miscarriage was a harsh lesson in counting chickens, one I caution others of when they begin to shout about their first child during that first trimester. I remember calling my family back home and telling them all about the excitement, the potential names, and the new life that was at that time, assumed to last much longer than my own. After the ectopic pregnancy threw us for a loop and into a crash course in obstetrics, we were numb, grieving for something more than just a tiny egg, it was to be our legacy and then it was suddenly threatening her life, all within weeks. I remember being so sad, but at least we had optimism, we had hope that if we did it once, we can surely do it again.
If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. And so we did. We studied cycles and chemicals, took test after test, lab result after lab result, until we couldn’t muster up the courage to see a third doctor and so we stuck with our second choice and decided to go through one more IVF cycle. It was years removed from our first blessing and all I could think about was why we were being cursed. I keep picturing that small piece of belly between my pointer finger and thumb, trying to stick that tiny little needle into the love of my life damn well knowing the probability was slim to none. Questioning my level of faith and determination while pushing to decide when enough was enough, giving in to what we knew would inevitably turn into insanity if we kept trying. In the end it didn’t work. She was devastated and I was done. Done talking about pregnancies, and eggs, and zygotes, and cycles, and even adoption. The rollercoaster of up and down had gone from wanting to create a family to desperately just wanting something, anything to fill the void that formed when that first kid just didn’t work out. Eventually time passed and we both slowly let go of the hope, the desire to have a child and eventually slowly let go of one another. I had gone from assuming I’d have 4 kids, to having one in the oven just long enough to brag and then lose it, to having none.
I had gone from assuming I’d have 4 kids, to having one in the oven just long enough to brag, to having none.
I remember how hard it was to check my ego at that time. There was little time left to process what it would be like to never become a father, I had focused all of my energy into the closest human in my world who was going through the hardest time of her life. I remember finally sitting back and taking it in. I hadn’t been drinking a lot during the cycles. I mean, we borrowed against the house and ran up all of our credit cards to pay these doctors to make us a damn baby, drinking would have decreased our probability for success and we needed all the probability we could get. Anyways, so I found my way into a few mini pitchers at the bar and remember picturing having to erase things off my chalkboard of life. I literally pictured walking up to a chalkboard with one of those erasers from grade school and looking up at a long list of what we’re going to be accomplishments and memories with my children. For some odd reason the first thing on that list was ‘sports star’. I had always pictured having a son and watching him perform at a high-level. Shit, one of the biggest reasons I decided to be an entrepreneur was so that I would have the time and freedom to walk the kids to and from school and to coach. Gah, I wanted to be there for him before and after practice, to run drills, to sweat, to teach, to watch him progress, to watch him find that joy in competition that I had, still have. Fuck, I dunno if that would have happened, but that was definitely the plan. Then I went down the list from there, ‘grandkids’, nope, ‘leaving behind a legacy to better the world’, ‘walking someone down the aisle’, ‘awkward talks before prom’, dream after dream, being slowly and bitterly erased off the board. Then I got to a good one, one that caused pause. You see I’m a fairly empathetic person by nature and I’ve seen the look, the energy that comes from a new parent, shit any parent, that is unmatched. When they speak about their kid, I always imagined what it would be like, that it would be the greatest point of vulnerability I’ve ever known, that unconditional love that is impossible to feel until it’s felt. Pitcher upon pitcher couldn’t stop me from erasing every fucking one of the things on that list. After a while it got easier and easier, then I’d get hung up on something like trying to process and find acceptance. Fast forward another 8 years and a post-divorce relationship that never found its place and I was now at a last call. Not that I didn’t think I could start a family with someone new, I was now 40 and the prospect of raising a newborn, that would be a teenager when I was in my 50’s, sacrificing all that I had built professionally and all that I wanted to do and see personally seemed crazy.
2016
And so it began, a new perspective, wiping out all the things I had planned for the little ones that would become big ones that would inevitably create a new me, a me I’d never known about. Of all the things to grieve at this point, I feel like it’s that. It’s not knowing that type of love that I see in my friend’s and my sibling’s eye when they are watching their kid crawl or run or paint or speak or sing. I haven’t quite fully processed that yet, but I have made the turn. Of course I still get jealous when I see that look and I still hurt when I think about why that gift didn’t show up at my house, but as I move on from that thought I begin to process other things. I don’t have someone that I am totally responsible for. I don’t have the worry that parents have or the investment of time or energy or resources. I have more freedoms that most and that is comforting. And it’s interesting to chat with old friends on the question, ‘if you could go back, would you do it again’ kind of thing.
2020
So fast forward to today. As I write this, there is an 8 year old asleep in a fort in the living room. Not my kid, but a child that I’ve grown to love, that I’ve fallen in love with. I’m still adjusting, more like a really messy and hilarious roommate right now. I was not part of the hospital delivery or the sleepless nights, the first step, or the first day of school. After dating my girl for a year, I was introduced to both her and her Dad at an awkward pizza date. Since then I’ve attended the Chuck E.Cheese birthday party, given countless swim lessons, read to and been read to, hiked, biked, basketball, cried, laughed, and hugged this fiery spirit. We’ve fought about and she’s had to listen to my soap box speeches on why I don’t like fast food, youtube, ipads and Alexas. I’ve listened to Jojo Siwa so many times that I’m starting to get into kid pop music. To wrap this shit up, I’d like to use a quote from a book I read in highschool, ‘God giveth and god taketh away’. I have found this to be true, just not always in that order. And although I’ve let go of the fact that i will never have a child that shares my name, my blood, my ‘baby giraffe on ice skates’ athleticism, I have been given an opportunity to be a father. And I’m ready to give that shit 100% of me.
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