To be continued...

Click here to read the first part of my short story, written in September...

He opened the door for me as I got in the car, something our therapist had suggested he do to make me feel cared for.  I settled into my seat, fighting the urge to pull down my visor and check myself out in the mirror.  Kyle turned on talk radio, leaving me to my thoughts.

I was remembering the last conversation I had with Natalie.  The way the words slipped from her mouth so effortlessly and left me bleeding for days. Weeks. Months.  She felt justified. I understood that. It was the truth about how she felt and what she believed. The trouble was, I didn't feel the same way. I didn't believe the same thing.

I remember when I first told her we were trying.  It had been half a year, and since we were young and not in any hurry, I hadn't really blinked when I told her we'd spent the last six months trying to get pregnant.  She responded flippantly, saying that sometimes it takes a while, and we went back to talking about where we should meet for dinner after work on Friday.

Two months later, she and Heath announced they were pregnant.  She had known during our conversation that she was pregnant and hadn't confided in me. It hurt, yes, but I was able to move on. It was their first, and I wasn't sure how it felt to be pregnant. I didn't know if I myself would worry about sharing too soon, or if I'd want to shout it from the rooftops.  The rip was silent, but that was the first tear.

The second tear came when her daughter, a perfect seven pound bundle, was delivered and I went to see her at the hospital the next day.  As she held her baby, she glowed.  "Oh, Paigey,"she cooed at me, "You just have to have one.  It's all magic and life and everything you can imagine." I cringed. If not outwardly, than at least inwardly. It had been nearly eighteen months, and still nothing for us.  I hugged her and told her I was so happy for her.  And a tiny piece of my heart sunk to the bottom of my chest like a pebble in a pond.

Three months later I convinced Kyle to come with me to see a fertility specialist.  We had just hit the year and a half mark, and now I was getting impatient.  We ran through all the tests, desperate for an answer.  Finally, two weeks later I got a call.  It was me. My cycles were too inconsistent & sporadic for me to ever get pregnant on my own. We were going to need help.

The next morning Natalie and I had agreed to meet for coffee. She was still home on maternity leave, but didn't mind meeting early so we could catch up before I went to work.  I hadn't told her about the appointment with the specialist. Not because I was being secretive, but our phone calls were few and far between the last twelve weeks since she'd had her baby.  I arrived before her, securing us a table, and she appeared in the doorway wearing Caroline in a baby sling on her front, a trendy diaper bag slung over her shoulder and looking every bit the perfect mother.  She ordered herself some green tea and joined me.

Little Caroline looked like an angel.  Her pink cheeks were lax with sleep as she nestled into her mommy's chest, sinking deeper with each breath.  I wanted her. It was a sudden, physical ache.  I looked Natalie square in the face and told her everything in one deep breath. "Oh God, Natalie, I want her. I need one of those. I want one of my own. We've been trying for so long now and nothing's happening and I am hoping, praying, crying every month that the test will be positive.  And we went to see a specialist and he says it's me, that my cycles are too irregular and we will never get pregnant on our own, but treatments are so expensive and risky and not guaranteed, and why can't it just be easy? Like it was for you?"

And after I had word vomited my baby lust/infertility issues all over her cute diaper bag and fresh cup of tea, she put her hand around the baby's head, almost as if muffling her ears and said to me, "It is that easy, Paige. If God wants you to get pregnant, you will."  That time, I heard an audible rip.  Her shoulders were firm.  Her jaw was set.  I looked at her one more time, searching desperately for her heart, her compassion, but found none.

"Well, it's been too long. And I don't think God is hearing my prayers anymore. So I am taking matters into my own hands."  And with that I picked up my purse-that-didn't-double-as-a-diaper-bag, my to-go mug of coffee and walked out the door.  It wasn't until I got in my car that I burst into tears.

That night I had walked Kyle through what had happened, and he was outraged.  I appreciated his support, but at the time, I just felt numb.  Of course I didn't want to have trouble getting pregnant. Of course I wanted it to "just happen".  But I didn't get to choose. It was like a double whammy.

You can't have babies.
WHAM!

Your best friend just broke up with you.
WHAM!

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to come out of my thoughts and back into the present moment.  I looked over at Kyle behind the wheel and smiled. I was grateful that those were just memories.  Those terrible first months when we weren't sure if the treatments would work, when it was all I could do to get out of bed in the morning.  The depression that wrapped around me like a wet blanket, pulling me down, making me weary with its weight.

And then, after our first cycle of Clomid, I was pregnant. And just like that, the fog instantly lifted.  I could sing and clean and laugh again.  Like Natalie, I kept my pregnancy a secret until I was well into my fourth month.  I was so scared.  Thankfully, the pregnancy progressed as expected, and in the spring we gave birth a beautiful little boy, Atley Benjamin.  Atley became my whole world. I quit my job, becoming a stay-at-home mom and promised Atley that I would be the best mom a little boy could ask for.

A year and a half later we went through another cycle of Clomid and I got pregnant again, this time giving birth to a baby girl.  Mabel Nadine was a feisty baby, angry and unreachable for the first six months.  Slowly she softened into the sweetheart she is now, but colic stole those first few months of bonding from us.  It was awful.  It was during this dark time that Kyle began his affair with Whitney.

When I discovered it, via a text sent erroneously to me instead of her, I was dead inside.  I hadn't slept for nearly a year, was struggling with the demands of two small children and an absent husband, and though I was angry, mostly I thought, "Of course."

"Of course he's been cheating. Of course things are about to get worse. Of course he's not interested in having sex with me."

Kyle pleaded with me to give him a second chance, and I agreed, mostly out of laziness. I just wasn't up for a divorce.  Moving out, all the paperwork... So we found a counselor and slowly worked our way out of hell.  Mabel started smiling and sleeping, Atley started talking and Kyle started listening.  Our family started to solidify.

It was at this point that we decided to try for one more.  Our family didn't feel complete; Kyle and I were, I hate to say it because it sounds so cliche, stronger than ever, so we went back for one last cycle of Clomid.  Like the previous times I got pregnant on the first try.

Unlike my previous pregnancies, things didn't go as planned...