Infertility

E
very little girl grows up with dreams of becoming a Mommy. When that doesn’t happen, it’s the ultimate disappointment. I assumed I’d be cuddling babies and wiping sticky fingers right after I got married. But Hashem had other plans for me. He had plans to collect buckets of my tears as I lit my two lonely Shabbos candles, week after week; He had plans for us to be poked and jabbed, probed and stuck, strengthening our bond as we learned to be strong for each other; He had plans for us to take care of his lost children before we could take care of our own.

But let’s be real. Even though Hashem had other plans for me, that time was so painful. My heart yearned for a baby.

We lived in an apartment complex with loads of frum families. I felt like I was living in the land of the kimpetur. Everywhere I turned there were baby carriages and Little Tikes toys, toddlers playing ball, and mothers chatting about the latest sale at Gap, who has chicken pox, who’s making a birthday party.

There was no place for me. I didn’t belong.