Tuesday's Child

Of all the character traits in all the world, the one that I wish I came by naturally is grace.  Ever since I heard the “Monday’s Child” poem when I was young, I wanted to be Tuesday’s child – full of grace.

Monday's child is fair of face,

Tuesday's child is full of grace,

Wednesday's child is full of woe,

Thursday's child has far to go,

Friday's child is loving and giving,

Saturday's child works hard for a living,

But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day

Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.

Can you guess which day I was born on?  Wednesday.  Full of freaking woe.  I mean, really.  Talk about giving a child a complex.  ;-)

But anyway… back to grace.  In my mind, I have this image of a woman full of grace.  And I want to be just like her.  She is natural and beautiful.  She wears long bohemian skits and her hair lies effortlessly past her shoulders.  Somehow, her wavy locks are always blowing (in the ever-present gentle breeze of this magical world that exists only in my mind). :-)  She is thin, without being skinny, and vibrant, without being showy.  She buys all of her vegetables at the farmers market and carries them in a hand-woven basket.  She bakes her own bread and always has fresh flowers in the kitchen.  I’m pretty sure that she’s a vegetarian too and eats only organic foods.

Everyone loves her.  She is kind and tender-hearted and generous.  She speaks thoughtful words of wisdom and is quick to forgive.  Her actions are full of compassion.  She carries herself with confidence.  She is bold, but gentle.  She seeks peace and restoration.  She has a hearty laugh and a good sense of humor – never sarcastic or belittling.  She demonstrates love in all she does.

She is full of grace.

But I am far from this vision of perfection.  Grace does not come so naturally to me.  It takes practice, I guess.  And 30 years in, I’m still falling short.

So why all this talk of grace?

I guess it’s been on my mind a lot lately as I’ve considered the ways in which I’ve responded to my infertility.  Particularly in light of other people’s blessings.  When you’ve been trying to conceive for as long as Steve and I have, it is only natural to receive news of many, many, many friends who have become pregnant as we’ve waited.  And, I won’t lie to you here – it tears my heart into pieces.  It’s hard to adequately explain what it feels like.  It’s kind of like getting pummeled in the gut, having your lungs collapse, and then being expected to smile and jump around and do back flips of joy.  It’s impossible.  It’s impossible because I want to be happy for my friends, and I try to be happy for my friends, but inside I feel empty.  Like I have failed.  Like I’ve been forgotten.

And yet… I know that there is great happiness in new life, and I have been working and willing myself to find it – no matter what my situation.  The pregnancies of my friends have nothing to do with me.  (I know, I know – I’m totally stating the obvious there, but it’s something that I need to tell myself time and time again.)  As Steve reminded me a few weeks ago (after breaking down following the news of yet another friend’s exciting news), “The world keeps turning, Beth.  People will continue to get pregnant.”  Hard to hear… but true.

It still hurts.  I hate that I’ve become that friend – the one that people are scared to share their happy news with.  I get “special” emails and phone calls: “Umm, so Beth.  I just wanted you to hear it right from me.  I’m pregnant.  I’m so sorry – I know how hard this is for you!”  While I appreciate my dear friends’ sensitivity, I also hate it.  I hate that they think they have to apologize for their blessing.  I hate that they are hesitant to invite me to share in their joy.

And I hate that I haven’t showed more grace.

I will never be the woman full of grace that exists in my imagination.  But I can choose to respond in grace instead of resentment.  I can choose joy instead of bitterness.  I can choose hope instead of despair.

I’m gonna choose to be Tuesday’s child.  :-)