Well it’s been forever since I’ve blogged. Like most posts I’ve read the past week, it’s been a wild month with all of the holiday rush and unfortunately this outlet of writing has neared the bottom of the list. I now find myself on vacation at the coast, but with only a day left before returning to work. And pre-mourning of course.
I’m learning more about what this pattern of pre-mourning and complete dread of returning to real life are: my life feels completely in limbo.
Besides all the cooking, hosting, partying, wrapping, and attempted-but-failed-reflecting-on-Advent of the past several weeks, there’s also been some serious decision-making. And subsequent swings. We decided a few weeks ago that we just weren’t quite ready to start IVF yet. It was a week before we’d begin birth control and we were pretty sure, but just not positive. I couldn’t imagine feeling okay with being this unsure just a week before beginning such an intense process, so we canceled the appointments and the trainings and settled on giving ourselves the three months for acupuncture and dietary changes and aiming for end of February. I’m realizing now that said holiday bustle served as a convenient buffer from feelings about waiting.
I was feeling good, enjoying the idea of a break, brainstorming how we could make it feel restful and not just like killing time, dreaming about how to finance a little getaway to somewhere tropical. Now that things have slowed down a bit the ache has returned. We’re on vacation, where the past two years we were certain we would have a baby by the next. I walked these same shores dreaming of having an infant with us next year, bringing a pack ‘n play in tow, our child getting great time with her grandparents and aunt. This third year I’m finding myself more realistic, more guarded with my fantasies. I begin to imagine it happening by next year, having a little one with us, but if we don’t start IVF until February, those chances are really slim and I quickly reel myself in. If we don’t start the adoption process until then, count on two to three more Christmases without a baby.
As New Year’s Eve is here — also what would have been Day 1 of stims — I need to just call it, this year has sucked. I’ve had some rough ones: my parents divorcing, moving 500 miles away from my dad, dealing with my crazy mother, breaking up with the love of my life (which I eventually ended up getting to marry!). But this one goes down as the worst. And as I look in the mirror this week I see it on my face. Literally seven new gray hairs in the past three weeks. (Shouldn’t the opposite be true now that we’re on a “break?”) I’m vainly worrying that any physical beauty I did have is now behind me and that I’ll be an old, gray woman when I’m a new mother, not the perky, energetic kind wearing a yellow frilly apron that I’d imagined. I feel like my body sucks and is failing me in this most important, female way. Infertility has taken it’s toll in so many ways. Not the least of which is that I’m tired of not knowing in the slightest what the next year is going to hold.
In each of the moments of returning to real life that have come at the end of a vacation the past two+ years, I thought it would all be changing soon. I’m getting tired of that hoping, though, and realizing that, too, shouldn’t be assumed, because it hasn’t changed. Still no baby in these arms, still hanging in at a job I’m lukewarm about, still going to appointments all the time, still seemingly zero control over our family building. Will my life be any different this time next year, or will it still be hanging in the balance of uncertainty? Still waiting.
Tonight I’ll drink my champagne — heck yes, thankyouverymuchbreak — and toast to 2012 being over, ushering it out gladly. I’ll also try to breathe in and breathe out and try to welcome 2013 with whatever it does or does not bring. While many things externally are exactly the same as last year, I do know for sure that on the inside I am a different person. Hurt and wounded in some ways, absolutely, but also better, stronger, more grateful, aware of what I can take, learning I’m a fighter, and wanting it all even more. Cheers to that, too.