It was a long five years of trying to be okay.
I was in my mid-30s by then, and one friend after another was getting pregnant. Every week, it seemed I opened yet another invitation to a baby shower: always the bridesmaid, never the bride. Those were moments filled with longing and jealousy that I am now ashamed of.
When the five years ended, the news was good. We were cleared to try getting pregnant. But because chemotherapy ravages fertility and I was now 37, we found ourselves saving money and signing up for in vitro fertilization.It took two rounds of IVF to get pregnant.On Jan. 29, 2014, I gave birth to a 71 / 2-pound baby boy who had a head full of light brown hair and whose ravenous appetite and old-man snore we instantly found mesmerizing, maybe in a way only parents could.
“You never gave up,” my husband said, laughing as he watched Lincoln gulp down his first two-ounce serving of formula, which my husband fed to him.
As the two of them cuddled afterward, I was in a mood that I can describe only as postpartum elation.