When I feel like writing, I always come here. This site is an indescribable extension of myself, and where you might not be able to share such personal facets of your life, I find strength in it. To me, the heart of this community is in the multiplying of joy and the dividing of grief. But, still, it's a very complicated dance: figuring out what to share (and how to share it) and what to keep private. In many ways—today for instance—I need you more than you need me, making any nugget of support worth the snap judgments and tsk-tsking that are, of course, inevitable.
See, Mike and I are trying to have a baby.
And this "project"—what I'm calling it—is laced in every word I've written for some time now because it's Very Big News, yes, but also because the decision sort of carried us into a part of our lives I wasn't prepared for: this very stagnant, limbo-ish part. And I want to talk about these things, these unforeseen details, but I've been reminded to choose my words very, very carefully. I've been well-advised to think before I type because these words have the potential to haunt me relentlessly.
(And I'm being super dramatic, goodness, I know.)
We're still trying.
There's a normal fluttering of fear, wondering why it hasn't happened yet, and when you're afraid and you speak those fears, all you really want to hear in response is: Yes, yes. Of course. Here's a pair of shoes to make you feel better. But instead we so often get variations of the following: Oh, you should take more time for yourselves! Travel more! It'll happen when it's meant to! Don't stress! It happens when you stop trying! Just relax! You can watch my kid for the weekend and then you'll change your minds!
And we know it's well intentioned. Of course, of course, of course we know.
It just doesn't help.
The other day, someone who wasn't thinking, someone who wasn't intending to ruin my day made a comment that did, indeed, ruin my day. And I internalized it, as I often do, because I don't want to appear crazy or obsessed or paralyzed. But, it's sad, to want something you don't have, something you're not sure will come easily now that it's been a few months of it not coming at all. And it's infinitely harder to bury everything you ever feel to avoid hearing thoughtless comments. So you take the good with the bad. The bad with the worst. And so on.
After that day, though, I remembered a post of mine, from long ago, that I sought out to find comfort in. Here is a part of it:
Mike is a special man, as he's like no one I've ever known. He is thoughtful and giving in the most genuine way. He is original and authentic and incredibly funny. (Just ask him, he'd be happy to tell you how funny he is.) He gets a kick out of life in the same way I do, which is amazing. He doesn't give away compliments as easily as some, so when he tells you that you look nice, or that he likes something about you or that he wants you to be his wife, you can feel it, because there's no doubt he means it. It's indescribable when you've met someone who has characteristics that you want your own child to have, including really cool red hair. Every now and then I think about our unborn kid and wonder if he'll laugh as deeply as Mike does, or if he'll be as smart and as able to fix computer hard drives, car engines or the hearts of those who love him as well as Mike is able to. I wonder if he'll be overly affectionate when he's sleepy or if he'll snore loud enough to piss the dog off. I wonder, every so often, if we'll be lucky enough to have a child that will be so fiercely loyal or as uniquely full of life as Mike is. Or, if he'll be as dramatic, which is pretty adorable despite how often I roll my eyes because of it. But, if that child doesn't come; if it ends up being just Mike, Molly and me, that'll be okay. Because on Valentine's and every day, I realize I have enough family in this man alone, and as we buy comforters, or make dinners or rewind Sonic commercials to laugh another time at them, I become so full of gratitude that someone out there looked down on me three years ago and thought, "I have just the guy she should meet." (Originally posted February 14, 2006.)
After reading I remembered that—despite how hard and emotional and draining the waiting has been and how hard it is to stay positive and make jokes such as, "Oh, we didn't want a summer baby anyway! Think of how hard throwing a birthday party would be!" and how piercing the headaches are from giving up caffeine and the fear that comes over me when the questions pop up along the lines of What if it never happens? Seriously, what then?—yes, he's enough for me.
I want my husband to be the father of my child. It's the biggest dream I've ever dreamt. And so we're trying, to make this grand, huge, crazy dream come true.
He's still enough for me.
I want to hear your comments, really, but please keep in mind that any comment of the hurtful/insensitive/rude variety can't be forgotten with a handle of tequila. So, I'll be forced—by YOU— to throw things at my dog. Do you want that kind of guilt? I'm just saying.