Dear Rachel,
First off, let me clarify: I never sought your opinion. You, who grew up Catholic (just like me), were taught about love’s healing power and the beauty of sacrifice. Do you truly understand the sacrifices I made for my children? The countless needles I faced? The procedures I underwent? The visits to the ER, writhing in pain? The tears I shed?
You, who accidentally conceived your first child because you “forgot the condom that one time,” have you ever pondered what it’s like to walk even a short distance in the shoes of someone grappling with infertility?
Do you know what it feels like when your body betrays the very heart that longs to nurture life, stubbornly refusing to give in to its deepest desires? Or the despair that follows each negative pregnancy test, only to rummage through the trash an hour later, praying for a miracle?
These children are born from love—the love between my partner and me, the love of hopeful parents envisioning their family, and the love of a mother dreaming of her future children. Do you really think that spending a brief time in a lab changes any of that?
Every time I felt them move within me, my heart overflowed with gratitude. I nourished them, sharing nutrients and oxygen, our heartbeats syncing in a beautiful rhythm. Can you imagine the depth of my love for them?
You insist that my cyst-ridden ovaries are just part of some grand plan. But have you considered that meeting the wonderful specialists at the fertility clinic was part of that plan too? If you witnessed a child struck by a car, would you simply dismiss it as “destiny” and avoid calling for help?
You claim it’s immoral to use “any means necessary” for conception, yet most cases of infertility are treatable medical conditions. If someone you loved battled cancer with a curable treatment, would you tell them to reject it and let fate take its course? Would you encourage them to suffer when compassionate professionals could help?
You accused me of discarding “unused” or “weak” embryos like trash, but I refused to let even the lowest-graded embryo go. Each one was treated with care, safe in a medical facility, holding the potential to bring joy to us or another couple in need.
Do you have any idea how many tears I cried over eggs that didn’t mature or embryos that stalled? Each disappointing blood test was a reminder that my womb wasn’t nurturing the child I yearned for. I lit candles, laid out prayer cards, and cried until my vision blurred.
Look at my children—my vibrant, love-born miracles. Watch them light up a room and bring smiles to even the gloomiest faces. Listen to the way “Mama” rolls off their tongues, like a sweet secret, a love letter to the one who gave them life.
See how they explore the world with wonder, laughing at dandelion seeds that float by, or shouting “Moo! Moo!” at the sight of the moon in daylight. Watch them wave at the mail carrier, smile at the UPS driver, and show genuine concern for others when they see a “boo boo” at the playground.
You can call me a sinner, and I won’t contest that. I’m human, flawed, and certainly not perfect. But being a mother? That’s something I stand by proudly.
If you’re interested in more about the journey of motherhood and home insemination, check out this insightful article on IVF. For those looking into at-home options, you can find great resources at Make a Mom. Plus, if you want to dive deeper into the world of self-insemination, visit our blog here for more information.
In summary, every journey to motherhood is unique and filled with challenges. Behind every child are stories of hope, sacrifice, and unconditional love.