"We're getting married now because we want to be young parents," I replied to the question of why Carl and I wanted to wed at such an early age. That was in 1985, as we were both just 21 years old. We had dreams, as do every young couple in love. Both of us hailed from large families with "older" parents and we decided it would be different for our children. Not that our parents weren't great people, things are just different with more "mature" parents.

By the third year of trying we knew that natural children weren't happening, but we didn't know why. Nor did I have the emotional energy to re-experience the loss each month when learning that I was indeed not pregnant again. The disappointment seemed to invite a wave of emotions that took me into a dark place inside of myself that I didn't want to revisit. In their own way of consolation we heard from friends, "Oh, you don't want children -- they're a pain." Or then there was our favorite, "You can take mine, he's a monster." Those sentiments were never very helpful; they felt like salt in an already openly raw wound. What I found over time was not that anyone could say the right thing... but that there was no right thing to say.

At various times throughout our marriage Carl and I peeked down the adoption road, but we never could find the spare $20,000 lying around to make our dream child happen. Plus, I seemed to go through what I call my "temper tantrum" stage of grieving the let down of natural children, "If they can't be our own kids then I don't want anything to do with it," I often cried. Even before I began dealing with the medical issues associated with infertility (and was eventually diagnosed with PolyCystic Ovarian Syndrome, or PCOS, earlier this year), I was somehow able to open up my heart and mind to come up with some unique ways of parenting. To that end I came to the realization that we needed alternatives until either medical science made a child happen for us, or our adoption placement came through with the Department of Social Services.

I found myself not able to visit grocery stores during peak mother and child shopping hours, I couldn't drive by schools... I actually found myself angry at my cat when she got pregnant and had a litter of kittens.

For years my denial took the form of pretending I didn't want children to begin with. But now, I finally looked infertility dead in the face and there it was: that huge black hole within my soul that a child was supposed to fill. I was able to let down some of the denial and admit that I do want children. Women are instinctive creatures: At a certain age, the mothering instinct simply kicks in, and mine had -- loud and clear. The newfound freedom of denial had its price as well, though. I found myself not able to visit grocery stores during peak mother and child shopping hours, I couldn't drive by schools when the children were coming or going, and finally, I actually found myself angry at my cat when she got pregnant and had a litter of kittens.

I was torn when my baby brother and his wife gave birth to the first baby of my siblings. The event magnified my emptiness, while at the same time I couldn't have been happier or more proud of them. I felt a little selfish and wished that I could have this little infant. I feared holding my nephew because the feelings might flood and I would begin crying so uncontrollably that I wouldn't be able to stop. Nearly a month later I heard my sister was pregnant and that tugged my heartstrings as well. I mean, I am happy for her, but can't help but ask why can't it be us? What did we do wrong to deserve this fate?

In what was initially an effort to fill the physical void of a child I answered all sorts of advertisements for foster care, etc., but for one reason or another, it just didn't seem to work out for us. Finally, I saw an ad seeking "host parents." It was foreign exchange programs looking for a family to take a high school-aged child and allow him to live as part of our family for one school year. We discussed the prospect of it and decided what better way to see if we would be good parents, but to try it!

Nearly 6 months prior to his arrival, we began an e-mail correspondence with Daniel, a 16-year-old boy from Germany traveling on scholarship to America for the first time in his life. I would like to think that he was as scared as I was leading up to his arrival. Each and every day before his scheduled date to land in Boston, I continued to doubt that I possessed skills necessary to be a functional parent to this needy young and impressionable human being for 10 months. I worried that I would fail him miserably and ruin his little emotional being. To make matters worse, his parents made me nervous. They barely spoke English, and they were entrusting me with their child. "My God," I thought. "How can they give up their child to a total stranger, to me, for nearly a year?"

I couldn't possibly write in this small space all the experiences that we had in those 10 short months. The bottom line is our goal was accomplished and we sent that young man home a little older -- and not damaged. Our experience allowed Carl and I to see the void that for so long we had denied existed. Not only did hosting confirm its existence, but when Daniel left, the emptiness seemed to widen and grow larger. From the moment he stepped foot on the plane that took Daniel from us we vowed never to entertain the thought of hosting again. Saying goodbye to Daniel was emotionally worse than seeing the minus line on the pregnancy test all over again. It was as if a positive result turned to negative right in front of my eyes.