She said the word. The word I had dreaded and the word that made me me sick not so long ago. The word that suggests that my fear will become a reality. The word that makes me feel like less of a woman and suggests that I will never carry my own baby. I will never feel that deep bond with someone I have never met. The word that means my struggle is heading down another path, and I’m up against a whole new battle. Someone else would have to carry MY child. As if my heart could break even more.

Surrogate. Jab.

I thought my pain was close to being over. Shouldn’t what I’ve experienced count for my misery? Every mother has gotten to feel “that,” right? A kick, a hiccup, a heart swelling from an ultrasound, some gross, sugary drink, an epidural and labor. I wouldn’t get to feel this. Isn’t this all a normal part of a woman’s life? Bearing a child. Should be. That’s what I have thought ever since I was a child. Women carry babies. Women give birth. Women become mothers. And they get to feel something that men will never, ever begin to feel.

Why did she say surrogate? “If you choose this in Nebraska, whoever carries your child, her name will be on the birth certificate and then you will have to petition the state of Nebraska to adopt your baby?” Adopt MY baby? It’s my egg, his sperm, and our embryo. This unfairness pains me. How can someone steal this from me?

I want to cup my hand on my stomach, giving my unborn child a reassuring touch. I want to hum songs and laugh, knowing that sweet baby can hear me. I want to know that someone else in this world needs me. I want all of those terrible things too- the stretch marks, the morning sickness, the sleep deprivation. Bring it on! I would take it all. I would take the chance of losing anything I have ever liked about my body. In a heartbeat, I would. That nine months of fear, I want that. I just want to bear my own baby. Before they even see me, I want them to know me. I want that irreplaceable bond.

I don’t know how to accept this. I’m working on it. I have been working on it for over a year, and every time I fail, the idea becomes more real. Scary, yet closer to the end. I believe that we are getting closer to the answer, even if it isn’t the answer in which I have prayed. I saw a quote this week that said, “I don’t know where my story will end, but I do know that nowhere on the pages, will it say, ‘She gave up!’” I love that. And, I will live that. Maybe this is just my story, my path, my answer. I don’t have to accept it today. I can think on it, sleep on it and cry many long nights on it. But I will make it.

Life isn’t easy. It’s beautiful, but God never promised it to be perfect. We all struggle. Yet, we all have lives that someone else is praying to have.

If having “her” carry my baby is the way my story unfolds, then that is my story. There has to be beauty in this. I promise to inspire someone through this. I will get to hold my baby, no matter how that baby comes to me. I will be a mommy, and I will have so many sleepless nights. I will rock that baby to sleep, and love them just as I would, had I carried them. I love them already. I will love them unconditionally. That is what being a mommy is. So here I am. Waiting for years for you and counting down the days until I hold you. Loving you already.