This painting isn’t so much about my fertility as it is about my question of it. It sits in that strange, quiet space between assumptions and reality—where some imagine deep longing or distress in the waiting, and others assume disinterest. Neither is entirely wrong, nor entirely right.

There is a part of me that would welcome it, because I know it would be good, refining, sanctifying. It would answer a desire in my husband; I know I would treasure the blessing and gift of a child. But there is also peace in the possibility that it may never come.