Almost two years ago my grandmother died of breast cancer. She was the strongest woman I knew, she was beautiful, smart, steadfast, faithful, generous, funny, she was light. When she died a part of me died too.

A little over a year ago I had my first miscarriage. I saw a positive pregnancy test on March 17, 2024. I was so excited. Three days later the tests came back negative and I started bleeding. I was distraught.

Then five months later I had a second miscarriage. August 29, 2024 I had a positive pregnancy test, same thing as last time. I lost it a week later.

Losing my grandmother, losing my babies took some of the light out of me. I’m still looking for the light but it’s coming back. One single drop at a time. Sometimes I feel hopeless. Other times I feel grateful, excited and motivated to get started on something new. But I have this dread in the back of my mind. Nothing good lasts forever. And if I get too excited about something it’s going to slip away. “It was nice while it lasted” I tell myself. every. Time.
What man meant for evil God has meant for good. Joseph spent 7 years in a prison cell betrayed by his brothers. He didn’t lose faith. Jesus was beaten so badly he was unrecognizable. He died the worst death anyone could go through. What man meant for evil, God meant for good. And Jesus Christ rose from the dead, and now we are all saved through him.
The Lord is telling me to be patient, steadfast, and faithful. “Wait while I do a good work in you.”
I’m waiting God… I’m here, waiting.

It's an odd feeling to be the only woman at a party without a baby. All of the mothers gather into a circle, guarded by their strollers and diaper bags. It's like being on the outside of the popular girls in highschool. You can dream and wish to be a part of their little club but it doesn't happen. You can look but can't touch.
“Oh hey, I have to run to the restroom. Would you mind holding the baby? He wants to see you.” My heart drops at the condescending tone in her voice but I take the baby anyway, playing pretend for the five minutes the little one is in my arms. That I can glimpse into my future just for a second. Until the baby’s mother comes back and takes him away from me. My arms drop to my sides, the weight of the baby gone from my arms. It doesn't feel any less lighter though. It feels ten times heavier.
It’s always, “When are you going to have a little one?” “Oh it's all great until it actually happens, then you’ll never sleep, have ***, or have a clean house ever again.” “Enjoy this time now because it's fleeting.”
I want to respond in screams, in frustrated grunts like an animal. I want to cry and yell. I want to break a table and plead to God on my knees. I want to take one of their babies in my arms and just pretend. Just imagine that I'm holding my baby, Not someone else's. I want to not feel this ache in my chest. I don’t want to look at a pregnancy test and feel my heart drop through the floor. Holding it up to the light to see a second line. There never is. I want to scream at the sky until my voice is hoarse.
But I sit and smile. “Oh we’ll start trying soon.” “Oh I'm sure it's not that bad, I guess having children isn't all it's cracked up to be.” “We are trying to savor the time when we can do what we want and sleep in.” Sit, smile, take it, don't be rude. Empathize, laugh, agree. All of the ******* things you're supposed to do. Not what I really want.
All of the things that have been said to me:
“Just the babysitter.”
“Always the babysitter, never the mother.”
“You’d make a wonderful mom.”
“You look like a natural.”
“Thanks for watching the baby.”
“Just a nanny.”
“Always a nanny never a mom huh?”
“Babysitter.”
“Aunty.”
“Can you babysit?”
“You'll understand when you become a mom.”
“When are you going to have kids of your own?”
“You’ll have a lot of practice.”
“One day it'll be you.”
“You’re like the mom who never gets to go home with her baby.”
“It’s so ironic that you have the most experience with children but you don’t have any of your own.”
“You’re the mom who doesn’t get to go home with your baby.”
“Are you sure you’re, you know, doing it right?”
“It’s not you, he just wants his mommy huh?”
“We don't need you anymore.”
“Don't come back.”
When will it be my turn?
I never thought I’d be the girl who would have to go through this.