“He was there when I said I was ready to try again. When we stood in that tiny bathroom for the fourth time staring at a plus sign that seemed more like a question mark, he was there.”
- Love What Matters
- Children
“He was there when I said I was ready to try again. When we stood in that tiny bathroom for the fourth time staring at a plus sign that seemed more like a question mark, he was there.”
“I loved my baby, so how could I be depressed? But I was. I was suffocating. I was literally gasping for air.”
“Having a child with sensory issues and autism is not something I anticipated when becoming a mother, but it’s become my normal. They scare him, overwhelm him, can be physically painful for his ears, and he has had intense anxiety over them since he was a baby.”
“We went in at 11 weeks to find his heart had stopped. We were done… Crushed, confused, and heartbroken. We took a break from it all and almost through in the towel. But we knew we had one embryo left. If we didn’t try it, we would have to discard it and there was no way we could do that.”
“‘Shall we put these up on the fridge when we get home?,” I asked. You paused, reluctant to answer me. ‘No, I don’t want to.’ You said quietly, your usually steady voice shaking a little.”
“I was single and 27 when the tug of foster care came.”
“On a whim, he filled out the application to be a contestant on the show. Several rounds of interviews later, and he was flying out to Los Angeles to have a final interview and find out if he would get to play for $25,000. Well, he did! And he won! Aaron’s phone rang 3 weeks later. ‘Holly, I got THE call. They have a match for us. When can you come home? They want to talk to both of us.’”
“In my 20s, I watched all my friends marry and have babies. I saw their lives unfolding while mine was stuck. I felt like guys could somehow sense my ‘barrenness’. Like somehow other girls gave off some mysterious appeal I couldn’t. I knew infertility would one day rear its ugly head. I was an old soul trapped in a young body.”
“I was not the mother to make this kind of error. The mother who looked away. ‘If he’s alive, he’d be kicking, fighting.’ Why wasn’t he fighting? I pulled him onto the cement and thrusted my hand against his back. Fingernails pink, skin pale, lips discolored. His white knuckles gripped my neck. ‘ANDREW. Andrew, please come back to me.'”
“I decided to write Peyton a letter before he left. I needed to get out all of the things I wanted to say to him – the good and the bad. I’m sorry we took the easy way out. I wish we would have fought harder for you.”