It’s Father’s Day, 2027. I’m at a wine festival without my husband. All around us are families, fathers playing with or holding their children. A Bob Marley song starts to play. Don’t worry, about a thing, because every little thing, is gonna be alright. As much as I want to hold on to this hope, sometimes it eludes me.
~The day after~
My husband is usually an”It is what it is” kind of guy. But when he sent me several text messages about how awful Father’s Day was for him, my heart sank. He feels robbed, like he’s missing out. We should already have our daughter… and we don’t. And it’s still not happening(cycle day 4 as I write this). I try my best to lift him up out of this slump he’s in but he has every right to be there. This sucks. Miscarriage sucks. Secondary unexplained infertility, as much as I feel that’s some made up term, sucks even more!
Every year on a certain holiday, we tell ourselves that we’ll be at least pregnant by this time last year. Well, 3 Mothers Day and Father’s Day has gone by. As well as 2 New Years, birthdays, Thanksgiving and Christmases. Yes, we count. We also pray that one day we will be getting cheesy hand made gifts and cards on our special holiday. I also pray so hard that my husband get to at least be holding our child in his arms next year on Fathers Day.