Yesterday I found my passport. Inside was a picture of me four days before I turned ten. I looked into the black and white photo of a familiar face, but with different eyes. The eyes that stared back at me were so innocent. Filled with the hope and promise of what was to come, the unknown. The face of a girl who never knew her body would fail her later in life.

I just took a shower, a really hot shower. I looked down at my imperfect body. I washed the stretch marks I had received from having my daughter. I looked at the bag dangling from my body and cursed it. It's much easier after all to blame an object for the source of your pain. "It's all your fault." I said in my head as I stared at it. I turned the water on hotter and let it run over my body.

When I got out, I cried a little more. My period should be here soon. My monthly reminder that things just don't work like they should. My monthly reminder that my husband and I are so far away from having a baby. I have tried almost every outlet to find a way to have a baby. Heck, I even wrote Oprah. No, she didn't write back or call. I'm still waiting.

Somewhere between emptiness and fulfillment is where I am. I look at my daughter and my heart sings. I shower, and I cry. Sex, it used to be full of what ifs, and questions like "is this the moment? Is this when we will create life?" And you lay back, holding each other, wondering, so much in love. Then you find out things just don't work right. My husband tries, but there's a stinging pain where lust and wonderment used to be.

Some days, like today, I am consumed with my infertility. Probably Aunt Flo knocking on my door, sending my hormones into a rage to remind me she will be arriving in a few days. I just don't know. So I cry. I cry that cry that comes from deep within. Almost like I am trying to choke the pain out through my tears.

My husband tries the best he can. He tells me that if I never have his child, he would still love me as much as he ever did, that he won't leave. I tell him I can't believe him. He tells me he would do anything for me, anything. My heart searches for comfort in his words, but can't find any.

Tonight I'll lay awake: tossing, turning, mulling. Feeling sorry for myself. Then, tomorrow, the sun will shine again, or hey, maybe it will rain. But the rain is comforting, bringing life to growing things as it falls to the ground. Then I will creep into my daughter's room. I will touch her, and I will be thankful for every moment I have with her.

Somehow, tomorrow, I will struggle to find hope, and remember all the good things I have in this world. And remember those who don't have much hope. I will try. It's all I can do, try.