In July 2018, we became husband and wife. But the miscarriage from our first pregnancy turned the very word “pregnancy” into something we feared. We were living with a passive mindset of “we’ll have a baby if it happens,” when one day my wife quietly said to me, “I want to have a baby before we get any older.” That one sentence began our year-long journey.
Diet management, no alcohol, no smoking, exercise, infertility treatments—we did everything we could. But eight miscarriages gradually broke us down. The pressure of “having to” be intimate on scheduled days especially turned us as a couple into machines. It was duty, not love. I still vividly remember how heavy that burden felt.
On the one-year mark, my wife sobbed and said, “Let’s stop. I want to give up.” That night, we brought out alcohol and cigarettes for the first time in a long while. And instead of obligation, we spent the night with genuine feelings for each other after so long. We lived peacefully like that for two months, and then her period stopped. Two lines on the pregnancy test. But once again, we were afraid.
At nine weeks, when the doctor said “Congratulations,” tears finally came. The year of waiting and hardship had all been the process of meeting Royul. We realized then that blessings come when mom and dad’s hearts are at peace.
Looking at Royul sleeping beside me now, the desperation and longing from back then wash over me as warm emotion. Our child whom we met not by refusing to give up, but rather by giving up. Royul, thank you for coming to mom and dad.
Today’s one-liner: “Royul, the miracle that came when we gave up.”
Next story: “Preparing to Become a Dad”
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