So, I'm not pregnant. I thought I was. I hoped I was. And, what's more, I had reason to be rather optimistic this month—which was, I have to say, quite a refreshing change of pace compared to the seven previous months when my body basically did one long variation of flipping me off. But, I'm not. No Christmas baby. No fellow Capricorn running around the house. (Which would have been fun. Think of how insane we could have driven Mike, what with all the combined anxiety and hand wringing we'd do.)
I am staying positive. And come tomorrow, after a champagne-soaked night, I'll be positive again. But throughout this process there's always one day of the month that's harder than any other. For this month, that day seems to be today.
My palms become really clammy whenever I get the urge to talk about our "problems" getting pregnant—I use quotes because our problems very much fall under the headline of Definitely Could Be Worse—because it's tricky ground to tread and I don't want to develop some sort of subtitle after my blog that is some variation of Trying to Conceive. We are trying to get pregnant—or, as I like to call it Project: Trying To Get Knocked Up—but we're also trying to find a great desk for my office. I'm trying to gather the motivation to get up and run in the mornings. Mike and I are trying to decorate our house and host more poker nights. We're trying to get prepared for our housewarming party and our nephew's second birthday in the coming weeks. We're trying to plan our anniversary trip, and I'm trying to decide how many shoes I should bring with me to BlogHer (10? 12?). I think about having a baby a lot and we talk about having a baby a lot and I already know how I'm going to tell Mike when the time comes. (I wish I could tell you how, but that would totally ruin the fun of telling you WITH PICTURES, and—wow—I am the most patient woman alive. Send shoes.) But whether or not it takes us another year or it happens in a few weeks (um, that'd be nice, if someone could go ahead and make that happen) I know our ultimate goal has always been the same, regardless of how long it takes us to get there. We thought the road would be short. We were wrong. But we'll keep on. And we have so many things to enjoy along the way. For instance: I am enjoying Carly on American Idol. I already know you are not, Internet, so don't feel you have to tell me.
I was kind of excited about a Christmas baby, sure, but I don't want a Christmas baby or a summer baby or a baby who sleeps through the night or a baby who doesn't. I don't want a baby who will walk at nine months or will crawl until their second birthday. I don't want a baby with dark hair or light eyes. I just want a baby. Period.
I try to find the silver lining in all situations because it does seem like a better solution than ramming one's head into the wall until passing out. And I have a silver lining: this weekend is Natalie's bachelorette party, and if that's not the single-best reason to down a glass of champagne or seventeen, then, really, I don't know what is. If you've read this site for any amount of time, you've heard me mention Natalie—most recently in my timelines—but there will never be enough words in the world to really talk about her. I've had some low moments throughout all of this, and she's listened to me work my way through them. One night, when I was especially sad, when I was succumbing to some tears, I called her, and I told her I didn't know why I was so sad right then, but I was. And she listened and then she said, "You'll have a baby. Even if I have to carry it for you."
Sometimes the silver linings are hard to find—they're lackluster and grimy and we're just too damn clouded by all the frustrations and stress. And, other times, the silver linings—the friends, the times with those friends spent consuming copious amounts of champagne—blind you with their magic. No, I don't have a baby yet. But when I do, I have just the person I want him/her to meet.