The Impossible Dream by Kir Piccini

When I was younger, my dreams were fairly simple: the right prom dress, an A in English, the smile of a perfect guy that would shine in my direction.

Of course, I had long term goals too: graduation from college, a thriving career, and somewhere along the way that smile would turn into a kneeling proposal, a flowing white dress and a lifetime of happiness to include children that took our best qualities, and make us smile in recognition over their tiny heads.

Intermingled with all this were the things I would not do. No mistakes. No sleeping around or acting irresponsibly. I would stay a good girl amidst all the bad stuff around me. I found this to be no easy task and suddenly I was thrust into the kind of places and situations that would make me question my sense of self and push me to do things on that former list, with little regret.

It’s funny that your dreams don’t always follow the path you believe they will.

My path to the things I saw for myself has been fraught with moments and memories I could have never seen coming.  However, I have found for myself that it is those unsuspected moments that end up defining your life and letting the person you are meant to be emerge.

Many of the dreams I hoped for did manifest as planned.  I eventually did walk across a stage and earn my diploma, I entered the work force and began my career, and by some miracle the right smile found mine and danced me around a floor after giving me his name.

I had been lost, but now was found. The rest would be easy.

My dreams of motherhood had never fully formed. I guess I had always just believed that when it was time (and hopefully not before then or with someone random) I would claim the birthright of every woman and hold my children in my arms.

In my quest to not become a mother before it was time, I lost the understanding of truly wanting something. So much so, that when my heart made the decision to pursue a pregnancy and my body rejected the idea, I was thrown into an abyss of self-hate, depression and sadness I had never known could exist.

Grief became a friend, and a disappointment. A trusted (but annoying) ally. My sunny disposition and outlook on life took on a very gray hue while I struggled, charted, devoured blogs, read books and sought information about trying to conceive.

I held onto hope with both hands, willing to give up any of my dreams for this one to come true. I was reminded every 28 days how far I would need to reach inside myself for that to happen, how much I would need to sacrifice before I even became a parent. It was devastating.

Days turned into months, months turned into years. Years take a toll on you. They harden the skin around your heart while you deal with pills, probing and procedures; they test the very resilience of your optimism.

Yet years of perseverance can also instill a sense of strength in you that, quite frankly, you never knew you had. Once the words “you might never be a mother” had been implied, spoken in a hushed tone and found their way to my consciousness, I ran after my dream of motherhood with vigor.

“Impossible is not a definite…” I told myself, and I was more than willing to take on the dare to prove it. To see my dreams come true.

My four year journey to my family has a happy ending. The in vitro and twin pregnancy that brought my sons into our family was life changing, and at times scary, but sometimes it is darkest before the dawn. Your dreams are never clearer than in that moment.

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