As far back as I can remember I have always wanted to be a mother. Holding baby dolls, playing with Barbies, watching my baby brothers as they grew. In high school I even attended a class about Early Childhood Occupations Education, not really to learn about the “job” side of early childhood, but to educate myself on how to better educate my children from the second they take their first breath.

Later, I attended Eastern Maine Community College and continued my study in Early Childhood Education. I graduated in May 2010 with an Associates Degree. I was even the commencement speaker. I’m almost certain that there were one thousand five hundred people in attendance that day, but as I stood there with shaking legs, I just knew that my dream of getting married, having children, and becoming the best mother that I could be was closer than it had ever been before. I was going to achieve my dream, and I had an education to guide me – not something all mothers are lucky enough to have. I’ve heard it said that parenting doesn’t come with a manual. As true as that statement is, I have read at least seven text books on topics ranging from health, safety, and nutrition, to education, and discipline of children. These books are not just “parenting,” books, but fact and research based. If there could ever be a manual for raising children, I am sure that these books would be cross referenced in it.

Soon after graduating I became engaged to the love of my life. This love of mine happens to have sacral agenesis (also known as caudal regression syndrome.) This “syndrome” occurred while my husband was growing and developing within the uterus of his mother. This is how it always happens. While he was growing, his lower spine did not properly develop and thus was born unable to walk or stand. While there are many other medical issues, some of them include being unable to entirely straighten his legs, permanently dislocated hips, and highly sensitive nerve endings on the lowest portion of his body. My husband is, and will forever be, in a wheelchair. This by no means diminishes his independence and ability to protect or provide for me. I have no doubt that it is has only made him a better man than he would have been had he developed typically and been born with the ability to walk.

Since we married, on October 23, 2010, we have not used any form of birth control and have recently decided to officially try for a baby. I have to admit that even when we weren’t really “trying,” I was always a little saddened when that fateful day would come every month, and my body would deny my desire for another thirty days. Most months I would sigh, and tell myself that there is always next month.

I come from a very family oriented church and both my husbands side and my side of the family are craving a new addition. I have heard, “Are you pregnant yet?” more times than I can count. “Are you trying?” “Well, you’ve been married for a while now. Is there even a chance you could be pregnant?” I have to answer with the same heart shattering words.

No. We’re not pregnant. Yes we’re trying, it’s just not happening.

This month was the biggest heartbreak yet. Symptom after symptom lead me to believe that there was a high possibility of pregnancy. I purchased a home pregnancy test, with two test and took the first yesterday at around two p.m.. I knew that I should wait until the morning for a more accurate reading, but I couldn’t wait. And so, I took the test.

I peed. I paced. I tapped the counter. I read the stick.

Not. Pregnant.

Not pregnant, not pregnant, not pregnant.

It’s okay, I thought. It’s just because I didn’t wait until morning, there isn’t enough pregnancy hormone built up. I’ll take the next one in the morning.

I slept. I woke. I peed, I paced, I tapped the counter. I read the stupid stick.

N.o.t. P.r.e.g.n.a.n.t.

It’s okay. The egg just hasn’t implanted yet. Maybe in a few days it will show positive?

And only a few hours later the ultimate pregnancy test came back negative. Six twenty-eight a.m., the moment the dreaded red began to flow. Six twenty-eight.

I know it’s still early and that many couples struggle for years and years trying to get pregnant. I know that there will be many who will read this and think, “Oh darling, it will happen. You’re still so young. Why worry about it now?” To you I say this: At the age of fourteen I had a sudden period of mourning. I wouldn’t be a mother, at least not the conventional way. I knew it and I knew that God knew it.

As the years passed I began dating. I eventually found myself in a serious relationship with a young man that I desired to be with for the rest of my life, and began to wonder why I had that impression. He was healthy. I was healthy. Why wouldn’t we have children? When that relationship ended and I met and became engaged my future husband, I became aware again of my childhood revelation. The impression returned strongly on our wedding night, even before we consummated our marriage, that I would never bare children. I remember crying heavily, and feeling guilty about crying knowing that my feelings were making my husband feel vulnerable and helpless to calm my fears.

Last night before I fell asleep, I was so sure that my fears were unfounded. “Larry,” I said as I pulled the covers up.

“Yes, Jazzy?” He responded. He brought his face close to mine.

“I think we made a baby.” I wanted it so badly that I was almost convinced that the previous pregnancy test was wrong.

He kissed my face, all over. He was happy. I was happy. But, today the red came and he went to work. I stayed in my pajamas, read a Nicholas Sparks novel, and consumed Ben and Jerrys until I couldn’t think straight. I tried to pretend it was just another month, ‘there’s always next time.’

I think it’s time that I admit, really admit that there may not be a baby. Not ever. Because, if I don’t admit it – if I don’t admit it to the world – then I will keep continuing this pattern. I can’t face heartbreak over and over again like so many women have. I have to let go of my dream so that I can at least pretend that it doesn’t consume me. I can at least pretend that seeing your babies on facebook and in person doesn’t make me want to run and cry, while at the same time making me want to hold them and take in as much of their sweetness as I can because I might never have the chance for myself.

I see your baby bellies, your announcements, your children. I see your happy families, and your not-so happy families. I see accidental pregnancies and women that try forever and then succeed. I see unwed women, highschoolers, women addicted to drugs, and women in abusive relationships. All these women. Pregnant.

Why not us?

And, do you want to know the very best part? The part that makes me the saddest and the most ashamed?

I have been asked, for the third year in a row, to speak at church on Mother’s Day. I wanted to say, “Why don’t you ask someone who has successfully had a child?” But I didn’t, and I wont. There is obviously something for me to learn here. I don’t think any of the people who have asked me to speak have a clue about any of this, but how do I write a talk about being a mother when I’m trying to help myself realize that it may never happen for me?

If I didn’t know better, I would say it’s almost like a cruel joke.

But I know better. I do.