This Is My Why... 🤍

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be a mom.

Not because babies are cute.

Not because it's simply "the next step" in life.

But because I've always dreamed of building a family.

I've dreamed about hearing a tiny heartbeat for the first time.

Feeling little kicks.

Watching my husband become a father.

Reading bedtime stories.

Creating family traditions.

Watching Christmas through my child's eyes.

Growing old surrounded by the family we've built together.

I've dreamed about all of it.

But somewhere along the way...

That dream became much more complicated.

Over the past several years, I've been diagnosed with fibromyalgia, idiopathic intracranial hypertension (IIH, also called pseudotumor cerebri), papilledema, chronic migraines, and several mental health conditions that I've worked incredibly hard to manage.

My body no longer feels predictable.

Some days I function fairly well.

Other days, simply getting out of bed feels like climbing a mountain.

Then, our lives changed again.

After Adrian's work injury, he also began living with chronic pain, physical limitations, and an uncertain future.

When people ask me why Adrian and I don't have children yet...

Or why we've chosen to wait...

This is my answer.

Not because we don't want children.

Because we want them so deeply that we're terrified of getting it wrong.

Before Pregnancy

Before I could even think about trying for a baby, there are so many questions I'd have to answer.

Is pregnancy even possible for me?

Will infertility or miscarriage take that dream away before it ever begins?

How much time do I actually have before my window closes?

Would I need approval from my neurologist, OB, and every other specialist before even trying?

Discussing the medications I would have to stop and be without for the nine months of pregnancy, and possibly even longer during breastfeeding.

Would I spend nine months couch bound or bedridden because my pain became unbearable?

Would pregnancy permanently worsen my IIH, papilledema, fibromyalgia, migraines, or other conditions?

Would my body even be healthy enough to carry a pregnancy?

Would becoming a mother cost me the little health I've fought so hard to regain?

Would pregnancy be worth the risk to my health and our future?

And perhaps the hardest question of all...

Does my future child deserve a healthier mom than I can currently be?

During Pregnancy

Pregnancy itself doesn't scare me.

It's everything that could happen during it.

A high risk pregnancy.

Complications.

Pregnancy loss.

Stillbirth.

Watching my chronic illnesses permanently worsen.

More pain.

More migraines.

More fatigue.

More dizziness.

More brain fog.

More memory problems.

Hospitalizations.

Constant doctor's appointments.

Wondering every single day if my body can physically withstand the strain of growing another human while it's already struggling to care for itself.

Instead of enjoying pregnancy...

I'm afraid I'd spend those months wondering if something terrible was about to happen.

To me.

Or my baby.

Labor & Delivery

Then comes labor.

Another chapter filled with unknowns.

Emergency C sections.

Birth trauma.

Severe tearing.

Hemorrhaging.

Blood transfusions.

Premature birth.

Birth defects.

NICU stays.

The possibility of losing my baby.

The possibility of losing my own life.

The thought that hurts the most...

Having to hold my stillborn baby.

There aren't words big enough to explain that fear.

After Birth

Even if everything went perfectly...

My worries wouldn't end.

I'd worry about postpartum depression.

Anxiety.

Psychosis.

I'd worry that my disabilities would make me the kind of mom I never wanted to be.

I'd worry about becoming the default parent while barely keeping my own body functioning.

I'd worry that my brain fog and memory problems would keep me from being the dependable mom I want to be.

I'd worry about missing milestones because my body couldn't keep up.

That I wouldn't be able to run beside my child.

Carry them.

Play with them.

Or simply be present the way I imagine.

I'd worry my child would remember me as sick more often than healthy.

I'd wonder if my illnesses would keep them from having the childhood I dream about giving them.

Sometimes we struggle just caring for our dog.

There are days when neither Adrian nor I can even bathe her independently, or even together, because our bodies simply won't allow it.

That reality is incredibly difficult to accept.

It makes me wonder how we'd handle the physically demanding parts of caring for a newborn if we were both having a flare at the same time.

I worry that our child could have two parents living with chronic pain, disabilities, and physical limitations instead of one healthier parent who could help balance things out.

What would happen on the days when we're both hurting, exhausted, dizzy, or struggling just to get through the day?

Would we still have enough physical and emotional energy to give our child everything they need?

Would our child spend too much of their childhood watching both of their parents struggle?

What if something happened to my husband?

Could I support my child on my own?

The reality is...

I'm chronically ill.

Disabled.

Unable to work.

Some days that's incredibly difficult to accept.

The thought of bringing a child into financial uncertainty because of my health weighs heavily on me.

Emotionally

This might be the part that scares me the most.

I've spent years in therapy.

Learning emotional regulation.

Healing.

Breaking unhealthy patterns.

Managing my OCD.

My anxiety.

My depression.

My borderline personality disorder.

I'm proud of the woman I've become.

But postpartum hormones don't care how hard you've worked.

What if I lose that progress?

What if I become emotionally reactive instead of emotionally responsive?

What if I snap?

Yell?

Say something I can never take back?

What if I accidentally repeat the very patterns I promised myself would end with me?

What if my child feels like they have to walk on eggshells around me?

What if they someday need therapy because of me?

I never want to become the parent I once needed.

And that fear is heavy.

But Then...

There's another side to this story.

The side I don't talk about as often.

Because for every fear I carry...

There's a dream standing beside it.

I dream about seeing those two pink lines.

Hearing our baby's heartbeat.

Feeling little kicks.

Watching my belly grow.

Talking and singing to my baby before they're even born.

Packing our hospital bags.

Hearing that first cry.

Holding my baby against my chest.

Watching Adrian become a father.

Watching my mom become a grandmother.

Watching our families fall in love with our child.

I dream about contact naps.

Late night cuddles.

Bedtime stories.

Christmas mornings.

Pumpkin patches.

Beach vacations.

Family movie nights.

Watching my 16 year old soul cat, Shadow, meet my baby before he crosses the Rainbow Bridge one day.

Watching my child see the ocean for the first time.

Watching my child wander through a world painted in autumn colors.

Watching my child discover the quiet wonder of freshly fallen snow.

Watching my child's eyes light up as fireworks light up the night sky.

Teaching my child about nature, animals, and everything life has to offer.

Teaching my child about God's unconditional love, grace, and faithfulness.

Watching my child grow up knowing faith, prayer, and church from the very beginning, something I didn't have growing up.

Giving my child the stable, loving two parent home I didn't have after my parents divorced when I was three.

Showing my child the world and everything I can teach them.

Watching my child grow into the person God created them to be.

Breaking generational cycles.

Building new traditions.

Growing old together as a family.

Those dreams are just as real as my fears.So... Why Am I Waiting?

Because this isn't a decision we take lightly.

We don't want to simply become parents.

We want to become the best parents we can possibly be.

We want to give our future child the healthiest version of ourselves that we can.

I know there may never be a perfect time.

I know there are no guarantees.

I know healthy people experience infertility, miscarriage, pregnancy complications, postpartum depression, and unimaginable loss too.

Life doesn't promise certainty to anyone.

But right now...

This is the reality we're living.

Right now, both Adrian and I are navigating chronic pain, physical limitations, ongoing medical treatment, and an uncertain future.

We're doing everything we can to heal.

We're working toward financial stability.

We're trying to build a life where we can give our future child the security, stability, and opportunities we dream of providing.

Right now, we know we're not there yet.

That doesn't mean we'll never be.

It simply means...

Now is not the time.

There's another part of this that weighs on my heart.

I don't just dream about having a baby.

I dream about building a family.

One day, our parents won't be here anymore.

Our siblings will continue building their own lives and families.

And if Adrian and I never have children...

Eventually, it will just be the two of us.

That thought is incredibly painful.

We don't dream about having children simply because we want a baby.

We dream about everything that comes after.

A home filled with laughter.

A dinner table full at Thanksgiving.

Christmas mornings with excited little faces.

Birthday parties.

School plays.

Family vacations.

Watching our children grow into adults.

Welcoming the people they fall in love with into our family.

Holding our grandchildren one day, if we're blessed with them.

Building traditions that are passed down for generations.

Leaving behind a legacy of faith, love, kindness, and family.

That's what we long for.

Not just nine months of pregnancy.

Not just a newborn.

A lifetime.

A family tree that continues long after we're gone.

That's why this decision feels so incredibly heavy.

Because we're not just deciding whether to have a baby.

We're deciding the shape of the rest of our lives.

And that's not a decision we ever want to rush.

I'm praying that one day our health will improve.

I'm praying our lives will become more stable.

I'm praying our financial situation will be different.

I'm praying we'll be closer to the people who love and support us.

I'm praying that one day we'll look around and realize we're in a place where this conversation no longer feels rooted in fear, but in hope and excitement.

If that day comes...

We'll talk about it again.

Because the dream has never gone away.

We're simply choosing to wait until we can step into parenthood with the strongest foundation we're able to build.

Until then...

We'll keep healing.

We'll keep growing.

We'll keep trusting God with the timing of a story we cannot write ourselves.

And maybe one day...

This won't just be the story of why we waited.

It'll become the story of how we finally got to meet the little person we've been praying for all along.

I still believe that God knows the desires of our hearts.

And if parenthood is part of His plan for our lives...

Then I trust it will happen in His perfect timing.

Until then...

We'll keep preparing.

We'll keep praying.

We'll keep hoping. 🤍

"Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the for the Lord" - Psalm 27:14