By: Emma Lane
Updated: Oct. 13, 2020
Originally Published: Jan. 10, 2011
One tranquil evening, I found myself immersed in a novel, when suddenly, the story took a turn—I was jolted by the main character’s unexpected pregnancy. In that instant, every hidden emotion I had been suppressing surged forth.
In a fit of desperation, I rummaged through my jewelry box for the sharpest pin I could find, finally settling on a vintage yellow daisy pin. I grabbed the condoms from my nightstand and began to pierce them. Poke, poke, poke. Jab, jab, jab. The pin left noticeable holes—gaping reminders of the void I felt inside.
Staring at those torn wrappers was a stark realization. I buried the condoms beneath some tissues in the bathroom trash and collapsed onto my bed, overwhelmed with tears. For too long, I had stifled my grief, avoiding the painful truth of my situation. That moment of madness with the condoms was the eruption of emotions I had desperately tried to contain.
Several months prior, I had endured a miscarriage. It was unexpected; pregnancy hadn’t even been part of our plans. My husband, Mark, had always been vocal about his desire to remain child-free. I had hoped he would come around, but as time passed, it became clear that my longing for motherhood was a solitary journey.
Our lives were tumultuous at the time. Six years into our marriage, we were dealing with the stress of selling a house in a stagnant market, all while living in an empty home owned by my mother-in-law. Financial strain compounded our challenges—Mark was a full-time student, and his father was gravely ill. Amidst this chaos, I forgot to take my birth control for three days.
When I began experiencing nausea, headaches, and fatigue, I attributed it all to stress. I thought my late period was just an unfortunate fluke. It never crossed my mind that I could be pregnant, especially since intimacy had become infrequent. Then one night, I woke to a sudden rush of blood. I still didn’t see it coming; I assumed it was just a heavy period. It wasn’t until my gynecologist referred to it as a “missed pregnancy” that reality struck.
For days, I remained in a fog, indulging in chocolate peanut butter ice cream, but I didn’t confront my feelings. I returned to my routine, convincing myself I was okay. Yet, I wasn’t “okay.” Those who truly cope don’t resort to puncturing condoms, after all.
Mark was sympathetic upon learning of my miscarriage, but his relief was palpable—he feared the prospect of another pregnancy. It dawned on me that he would not change his stance on having children.
Would I have followed through with my reckless act if the holes hadn’t been so conspicuous? I like to think I wouldn’t have, but I can’t be certain. Perhaps the glaring evidence forced me to confront my grief head-on.
Eventually, I opened up to Mark about the whirlwind of emotions within me. I wasn’t just mourning the loss of a pregnancy; I was grieving the hope of ever being a mother. The universe felt cruel, allowing me a glimpse of motherhood only to snatch it away before I could even dream.
Our conversations became a ritual, revisiting the topic time and again. Through these dialogues, I discovered two significant truths: Mark wasn’t entirely against parenthood—he just wasn’t ready for a baby. On the other hand, I yearned to be a mother, regardless of how that came to be.
We had casually discussed the idea of adopting an older child before, but this time, we took it seriously. The “someday” plan began to take shape, and I dove into research. I was thrilled when Mark agreed to enroll in classes for adoption from the foster care system.
A year later, our daughter, Lily, joined our family. At nine years old, she had faced unimaginable hardships—abuse, neglect, and instability had plagued her young life. Six months after she moved in, we finalized the adoption.
Parenting Lily has been both challenging and immensely rewarding. She has made incredible strides since arriving in our home, learning to navigate her emotions and trust us. From the moment I saw her photo, I felt an undeniable connection. She is my daughter, my baby, and I was meant to be her mother. Mark has embraced fatherhood with enthusiasm, and witnessing their laughter brings me pure joy.
Lily has filled the void I thought would always remain. The holes in my heart were waiting for her, and now they are whole again.
For more insights on navigating similar journeys, check out our other blog posts, such as this one on intracervical insemination. If you’re considering home insemination, this resource is a great authority on the subject. Additionally, UCSF offers excellent information on pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, through loss and heartache, I found a new path to motherhood that I had never anticipated, reminding me that life’s plans can change in beautiful ways.