When you want to make God laugh...

I sat in the front row of my new classroom. As we did every year, The teacher asked us to introduce ourselves.

When I stood up, I grinned, trying to pretend I wasn't anxious at all, and started at the peers in my class. 

"So, hi…I am Pumba…ha ha. Just kidding. That was so last year. I'm just Cynthia. I have a big family. Three brothers and three sisters."

I'm sure my introduction went something like that… (minus the adorable confidence and spunky personality) 

The next girl who replaced me in front of the class introduced herself. “Hi, I'm Morgan and I'm an only child,”

Wow, that's sad, I thought, judging the information that she had just delivered.

Why would anyone choose to have only one kid? How boring! What would I do without my siblings? Yeah, I hate them sometimes, but they are my people. My favorite people. My built-in best friends. 

Poor Morgan. I'm going to have lots of kids when I grow up. 

Then…I grew up. 

***

It didn't take me long after my first wedding to turn my attention to the important goal of building and raising an eternal family, so after a year with no positive pregnancy tests, the questions, “Hey Cynthia, when are you going to have a baby?” Or, “Are you pregnant yet?” or, “Oh? You're nauseated? Do you have something to tell us?” really started getting to me. My go-to answer turned into, “I'll have a baby when God decides to give me one.” Or just a simple, “Nope. Not yet." With each casual answer my longing became deeper.

I don't believe anyone meant to cause me pain. They just wanted to be a part of my story. They wanted to show me how excited they were about my future and my happiness. 

However, after one particularly difficult day, a dear person made a pregnancy comment and I lost it. I completely broke down and sobbed in a back room. It was then I decided I was ready to begin infertility treatments. 

But wait…plot twist. I was already pregnant. 

Nine months later, my baby boy, August was born.

Having a baby was not a light switch to happiness. It didn't fix my marital problems or my PCOS, or bipolar disorder. It didn't fix my financial problems. However, my baby boy offered me a deeper reason to live. When depression was at its worst, I pressed on, knowing that August needed me. 

After August was born, I soon wanted another child. I was thrilled when I got my next positive pregnancy test. I had an instant connection to the spirit growing inside of me. Her name was Enna Jill Virgile. Twelve weeks later, she was gone. But loss is not what this post is about. It's about a journey.

Two more times, Enna tried coming my earthy family. Two more times my pregnancy failed. By that last time, my marriage was over. 

Leaving my husband made me feel like I was giving up on my Enna girl. I grieved her and my failed marriage bitterly.

In my two years of being a single mother, I lost my way spiritually. August kept me tethered to the church though. He wouldn't let me go to sleep without listening to scriptures first. He always asked to come to church every Sunday even though I felt like I didn't belong. He saved me, again and again. 

I knew I wanted to have more kids. However I felt like I was only short-term lovable. I didn't know if anyone would ever come along who would understand me. So I came up with a plan that I would get a sperm donor and would have another baby as a single mother. 

God surprised me with another plot twist, one I realized that he had been working on for the previous decade of my life. 

On January 2nd, 2020, my friend, Zack Terry, posted a poem he had written about his mother who had passed away. I had dated Zack back in 2011, but we didn't have a spark, so we broke up and grew apart. Then here he was, perfectly placed in my life again. It was clear early on that he was meant to be my eternal companion. God had prepared us for each other. 

Despite my bipolar 2 disorder, P.T.S.D, and P.C.O.S. and a complicated custody battle for August, Zack chose me. We knew it would be challenging, especially because he too had the limiting disability, Ankylosing Spondylitis (AS), which caused him severe chronic pain. 

From the very beginning of our marriage, we agreed to start trying for more kids right away because of my miscarriages and P.C.O.S. But, we were not prepared for the challenges that laid ahead of us. We didn't know that Zack would face excruciating withdrawal when getting off of harmful prescribed drugs. We were not ready for COVID to last so long. We didn't realize how involved our custody battle would be. We didn't expect my mental health to fall apart completely. We didn't expect August's mental health problems to surface. We didn't expect to get kicked out of our apartment unjustly. We didn't expect to lose another pregnancy while dealing with the death of a sweet family member. Let's just say, our first couple of years being married was no, "Happily ever after." But we were still much better off together than apart and we didn't want to give up the dream of having more kids together, so we started fertility treatments despite our hectic lives. 

Now, before going on, I must explain about my needle phobia. Something happens to me when I'm faced with shots of any kind. I go into full blown panic mode. It's like a terrified cat possesses my body and jumps, scratches, and hisses, inside of me until I pass out. When August was born, I literally had a home birth to avoid needles of any kind. Even finger pricks leave me feeling tortured. 

Now, I still try to act normal and not let said cat out of the bag, but, in order to do that, I have to go into what I call, "guinea pig mode." I don't know if you've seen the way guinea pigs act when they try desperately to run away from presumed predator human hands, but they're in a cage so there's nowhere they can go? Once they feel like they are completely trapped with no hope, they freeze and practically turn into adorable stuffed animals just waiting for the trauma to end. You'd think that I'd be fine after I've succeeded with enduring the needle, but here is where things really get ridiculous…and yes, I know this is overly dramatic and you are probably rolling your eyes. I'm with you, but my brain is so powerful that, even after I get the shot, I feel like the leftover needle mark is the equivalent to a gaping wound! If anyone tries to touch it, I flinch, especially if there is a bruise. I know it's ridiculous! Holy cow it's ridiculous, but my body just reacts. Anyway, you get it. Needles are not friends, their torture devices to my Cynthia brain.