We were walking in the mall to her favorite toy store.
It nearly broke me.
I can’t tell her she is the miracle of IVF.
I can’t tell her that her mother and I have been on a 7 year IVF journey.
I can’t tell her that we took frozen embryos for granted.
I can’t tell her we took time for granted.
I can’t tell her that we’ve spent over $100k on this journey.
I can’t tell her that’s why mommy always had doctor’s appointments.
I can’t tell her about the three miscarriages.
I can’t tell her how my wife and I promised not to get too hopeful too soon … only to get hopeful too soon again and again.
I can’t tell her that I had a breakdown in front of my parents.
I can’t tell her this journey has brought me to the darkest of places.
I can’t tell her she’s the reason I’m still here.
I can tell her I love her … every day.
I can tell her she’s our miracle.
I can be there for the important (and not so important) events in her life.
I can get down on the floor to play with her.
I can put my phone down and be present for her.
I can tell her no matter what I accomplish in life, I will be most proud to be her dad.
I can tell her that her mother and I will keep trying.
For her.
For me.
For us.
And, one day, if she ever wants to know how hard we tried, I’ll let her read this.
Because I want this for her too.
Desperately.
