Photo by Joy Theory Co

I can’t believe it,” he’ll say, suddenly stupefied by the fullness of my belly. “Me either,” I’ll remark with a quick pat to the midsection to authenticate the presence of life within. And we’ll stare. We’ll stare without words or pretense. We’ll stare with hope and fear and awe. We’ll stare at you.

And it’s in moments like this that I remember the journey.

I remember as our newly-wedded hearts confronted a barrage of the question. “When are you going to have a baby?” they’d say with curiosity dripping from their lips. We’d chuckle naively, the way young couples do, and with hope in our hearts, we’d say, “someday.”

I remember when our newly-wedded hearts gave way to years, and the curious questions gave way to apathy. “Are you EVER going to have a baby?” they’d say with impatience lining their tongues. We’d flounder under the weight of our silent struggle, and with hope still in our hearts, we’d say, “someday.”

I remember when the years gave way to tests and hormonal supplements and time, and the apathetic questions turned to silence. “Is this ever going to happen?” I’d whisper to David with the ache stuck firmly in my throat, and with a speck of hope padding his voice, he’d smile at me and say, “someday.”

And there were days when “someday” taunted us with disorienting heartache, always beckoning us toward it with no direction for our blows to land. But we’d swing anyway. We’d punch, and kick, and propel our bodies forward.

There were days when our fight was strong, when hope hurled us ahead and our hearts launched us straight into the beast. Oh, we’d give that fight everything we had in us… until we had no more fight to give. And that’s when our hope would collapse under the weight of the cyclical defeat. That’s when the tears would flow and the ache would commence. But we never stayed there long, you see. Because something inside would peer beyond the loneliness of my empty abdomen and say, “someday.”

I think there’s a certain type of strength that persists in your heart when you know you’re meant to be a mother. And while you wait through the fog of another negative pregnancy test, or the excruciating hold on your adoption match, you feel it there — that longing adhered down deep to your soul.

Follow it.

And when your heart is burdened by disappointment and fear, follow it anyway. Because the fight is worth it in the end, and you will be victorious… someday.

Brittany Calavitta is an enthusiastic advocate for a good book, strong coffee, and a hopeful heart. She currently resides in Southern California with her hipster husband and overweight Chihuahua. You can find her blogging at: