There is a question that seems to follow every new marriage, and the question grows more frequent the longer you go along. That question is, "When are you going to start having kids?" Grant and I have been married a little over 2 years, and a lot of people wonder and are surprised when I say I don't have children yet. Especially growing up in an LDS community, where the main emphasis is get married and have a family. I've received the reminders from well-meaning people that the prophets have said to not put of having kids and that nothing should come before or prevent having a family. And of course there are those who have said that I shouldn't wait to have kids because I need to start having them when I'm young and my body is still healthy because it gets harder to get pregnant as you get older.
I don't mean to be rude, but how on earth is that any of your business? Having children is an extremely personal matter that is between a wife, a husband, and the Lord. Not anyone else, except maybe a doctor who helps in the process. You do not know what is happening behind the scenes when you wonder why a couple has not had children. You do not know the circumstances that may be hindering or preventing that couple being blessed by those tiny beings. You do not know what kind of heartache you may be unwittingly jabbing at by your comments or questions. Let me give you one person's scenario of why she doesn't have kids yet.
Imagine looking at every baby and yearning for one of your own. You and your husband have been trying for a few months now, and so far there's been nothing to show for it. Then one day you find yourself staring at a small, white plastic stick with 2 lines in a display box. You rush out of the bathroom to show your husband the positive pregnancy test. Then comes the flood of conflicting emotions. You are absolutely ecstatic that you are going to have a sweet, little baby of your own. You are absolutely terrified that you're going to be a horrible mother. Then you feel that instantaneous and overwhelming feeling of love for the tiny creature inhabiting your body. You want that little alien to be safe. You want to protect it. You want it to be healthy, so you make sure you are healthy. You are willing to completely change you lifestyle in order to assure that this little baby has the best chance possible of survival. You then spend the next few months reading everything you possibly can about your growing baby. You get to read about what the baby has at a particular week. You experience all the symptoms that go along with pregnancy: the nausea, the sore boobs, the heartburn, the wild and crazy emotions that never make sense. You also experience such sweet, tender moments with your husband as he gets excited about the baby. Your love for him increases as you are carrying a new life that you created together. Then you eagerly and anxiously anticipate that first prenatal appointment. You've been pregnant for 9 weeks now, and you've waited a long time to hear that heartbeat. You wait in the room with your husband. You talk about how excited you are to finally get to see you little one. Finally, the doctor enters the room, and she takes an ultrasound. Then you get worried because the doctor is not saying anything as she is looking around. She continues on silently until she asks how sure you are about your dates (first day of last period, day of positive pregnancy test). You have absolutely no question in your mind about the dates, but suddenly, you are really wishing you weren't so sure. You become increasingly aware of the silence, mostly the absence of a thudding heartbeat. Panic wells up in your chest as you worry that your child might not be okay. You feel your heart breaking apart piece by piece when the doctor tells you that she can't find a heartbeat and the baby is too small. You start crying as your worst fears are coming true. She gives you a small glimmer of hope that the baby might just be a really slow grower, so she will check again in 2 weeks. Those become the longest 2 weeks of your life as you can do nothing but wait and worry. You become increasingly paranoid about everything thing you do. Chocolate ice cream has caffeine in it so you don't eat it, even though you know it's minuscule amounts that shouldn't affect anything. A warm bath to soothe your aching back is no longer an option because your internal temperature could heat up and kill the baby. You worry about everything. You try to keep your mind off it, but ultimately you end up more and more stressed. Then the spotting starts. You try to tell yourself that spotting is a normal thing in pregnancy. Things could still be okay. But you still end up hiding in your room as you sob into your pillow. No one can comfort you. Your appointment is still 3 days away. You hope your baby can hold on until then. When you finally go in for your appointment you have been pregnant for 11 weeks. The same silence greets you while the doctor does the ultrasound. The baby hasn't grown a single bit, and there is still no heartbeat. The doctor gives you 2 options: you can wait for the baby to miscarry on its own, which could take up to 3 weeks, or she could give you some pills that will make it happen that same day. You are crushed as you realize there is no possible way to save this baby. You pick up the pills and strong pain medication before you head home because you can't stand the wait. You can't stop crying as you experience the most painful thing in your life, and this pain is both physical and emotional. When all is said and done, you no longer have that precious baby. It's gone. You feel empty and devastated.
Now imagine having to repeat this scenario a second time a few months later in which you lose twins. Then add on to that a third time a month after that, but this time you didn't need medication to help your body give up the baby because it gave it up on its own.
3 pregnancies, 4 babies lost, in the course of 10 months.
So before anyone wants to ask me when I'm going to start having kids, please think twice. Because even with this description, you still don't quite know the extent of what I've been through.
