Father’s Day.

(Photo above from Google – CrossCards)

Another Father’s Day has come and gone. The second one now, since we’ve been married. The second time I’ve wandered off in my own mind, lost track of time in the greeting card aisle, just longing to be able to pick out the perfect Father’s Day card for my husband. The 3,457th time I have felt that lump in my throat, scared to death to let that thought enter my mind, even if just for a second….what if I am never able to buy that card? What if I’m not able to do the thing that all women are built to do? What if I’m never able to make my husband a father?

No, really….what happens then? Will we drain our savings accounts, hoping and praying to get the chance at a miracle? Will we throw all that out and try to adopt? Will he go on to find someone who can add “father” to his list of accomplishments? Of course, my heart tells me that would never happen, but as each month passes, that second line never shows up, and my hope grows just a little bit dimmer.

I have always dreamed of the day that I would be able to surprise my husband with the news – “we’re pregnant!”  I have spent more time than I would care to admit watching videos of announcements, gathering ideas to squirrel away for later. But what if that moment never comes for me?

It has been nearly fifteen months since my husband and I started trying to conceive. In the back of my mind, right from the start, I was scared. I don’t know why, but I always had the feeling that this would not happen for us, at least not without some heartache. But actually living it is worse than what I could have ever imagined.

So, now we have crossed the one-year threshold after which “the experts” advise you to begin to seek fertility testing. It’s terrifying, and I feel like a complete failure. But I’m going to face my anxiety and terror head-on. Because I don’t care what I have to do, next year my husband is getting that damn card.