We're Going to Need More Wine - Gabrielle Union Page 0,72

got custody of the three children we raise, I was bursting with joy at every milestone—every basket scored and tough homework assignment completed. I was fulfilled raising children, a joy I never saw coming. Wanting to have babies with Dwyane was a natural desire built on that joy. Dwyane wanted children with me for a long time before I was fully on board. For me, it was just a maybe, but one day we were with a friend’s daughter and she smiled at me. My ovaries literally hurt. And I knew it was time.

For three years, my body has been a prisoner of trying to get pregnant—either been about to go into an IVF cycle, in the middle of an IVF cycle, or coming out of an IVF cycle. I have endured eight failed IVF cycles, with my body constantly full of hormones, and as you’ve probably figured out by now, yes, I am constantly bloated from these hormones. (It also means I have forgotten my normal baseline emotional reaction to any given situation, and have no idea whether it would resemble my I’m-going-to-hop-off-the-roof reaction.)

For as long as I can remember now, Dwyane and I have lived in this state of extended expectation. Did it take? Is the embryo normal or abnormal? Will I stay pregnant? We are always in some stage, waiting for some news, some sign that we can move on to the next stage. This child we want to have has been loved even as an idea. Each attempt at IVF is a loving action. So we remain here, bursting with love and ready to do anything to meet the child we’ve both dreamed of.

Many of our friends have had their marriages end with the stress that comes with fertility issues and the accompanying feelings of insecurity and failure, not to mention the testing and retesting, defining and redefining, of your identity as a woman. And this whole deal has wreaked havoc on my social life. I now hate going to baby showers, but the invitations are constant. I find myself making up excuses to avoid them. I hate hanging out with mothers who constantly talk about their kids—and what mother doesn’t love to talk about her kids? (Well, actually, I do have some mom friends who can’t stand their kids most of the time. Them, I like!)

People who know about my fertility issues often hand their babies to me to hold, or text me pictures of babies (“to keep your hope alive!” they say). Nobody seems to think that’s insensitive, or maybe hard for me. So, no, I will not look at your Instagram if it’s full of babies. Though D and I did enjoy the video a friend sent of her toddler sitting on the toilet and taking a crap—her face wrinkling with effort, then suddenly melting into surprise and relief. Comic gold! We watched it seventy-six times.

I did force myself to go to one baby shower recently, because I knew the woman had struggled with IVF. I wanted a winner’s insight. I wanted to know what had pushed her to the finish line. “I sat my ass down,” she said. “I quit my job and I stayed home and sat my ass down. That’s all I focused on. That’s all I did.”

“That’s all?” I wanted to say. “You gave up the work that you love?”

That’s all.

Unfortunately, I kind of function as a single-income household. I may not support the family I’ve created with D, but I have several households of various family members I am alone responsible for. People assume I have a rich husband who pays for everything, practically giving me a salary. I don’t, and I don’t want that. So not working is simply not an option for me. And I know it’s not an option for many women who want an opportunity to be a parent. It’s awesome if that works in your life, and many people have assumed I can go this route, but the bank is weird about wanting their money. Those mortgages don’t pay themselves. Maybe not asking my rich husband to pay all my bills makes me selfish and not mother material. But if I did that, I’d already feel like I failed as a mother.

DURING ANOTHER RECENT PREGNANCY RUMOR, I HAD TO DO A PRESS LINE, which is what you see when a celebrity is talking to a bunch of reporters at an event. Ocean Drive, a Miami-based magazine, was having a big party celebrating my