I'm sort of the most impatient person you'll ever meet. Just to give you a general idea of what I mean, I'm a reads-the-last-page-in-books, Googles-show-spoilers, unwraps-and-then-rewraps-gifts kinda person. Some people sort of glower at me and assume I'm terribly immature (which I am) because knowing ruins the greatness of the surprise, don't I know, but, see, I like to have things to look forward to even if it's more than I really deserve to know. It's not something I'm terribly proud of, that I can't resist the urge to know the endings of things, but I've also long ago accepted that if given the chance to know or not know, I'm going to choose knowing almost every single time.
Mike proposed to me two-and-a-half years into our relationship and, oh my lord, I was close to having a conniption with all the waiting. I knew we were heading towards an engagement, but I wanted one like now, could you propose now? How's now for you? And Mike has sort of always been an easy-does-it, let's-just-enjoy-the-here-and-now, let's-be-totally-prepared-and-not-be-impulsive kind-of guy. And I'm all, YOU ARE KILLING ME. CAN WE JUST GET ON WITH IT ALREADY? When I had asked him for the 87th time when he was going to propose—now? are you going to do it now? what about now?—he finally shook me and said, "You are going to ruin it when it finally happens if you don't stop." And so I stopped. I took many deep breaths and relaxed and waited. Not because it was natural but because I could see it was essential. It came a few months later, and it shocked me to my core when it did. Not because I was stunned that he wanted to marry me (I am a total catch) but because at 5am on a beach in Florida—when we were supposed to be on our way to the airport—I was thinking about whether we had our IDs and where we were going to stop for breakfast and when our next vacation was going to be, I was not thinking he was about to get on one knee. And if I had known it was coming right then, it would have totally ruined how I felt when he asked. In that moment I felt better than I had ever felt before.
So it would seem easy, after saying all that, to put two and two together. To realize that I should stop forcing the endings to show themselves before the beginnings have even gotten underway. But I can't help it. It's sort of this undeniable facet of myself—I am impatient, I can't wait. I am terrified that if I do wait, if I pause for even a second, the miracle will just pass me by. So I try, desperately, to reach out and grab it and force it to stay by me. And it's all wrong, I know, but it's instinctual all the same.
When Mike and I began trying for a baby, there was not a spot I could see on the horizon that I didn't envision I would be pregnant for. I couldn't see as far as the infertility would end up taking me. I could not imagine, last May, not being pregnant at Natalie's wedding. Good, I thought, when her maid-of-honor cake showed up at my door more than a year ago. You'll be the perfect choice, easily refusing all that champagne. But it was just me standing beside her, not me and her niece/nephew. Not me and the kid I will leave with her for long weekends and on date nights. (Natalie, by the way, I'm totally leaving my kid with you for long weekends and on date nights. You too Crystal.)
I sometimes fear this space is going to become far too dreary, far too sad with all my baby ranting, but bear with me will you? It lightens up soon enough.
See, I didn't know how I was going to do it last month—another month of waiting, counting, sipping water while craving wine, lashing out at my husband, my friends, even the cashier at Tom Thumb because of the medicine coursing through me. I told myself that if it didn't happen that month, I just didn't think I could go on.
And it didn't happen.
And I'm going on. I have to. I want to. It shocks me what we—as humans—are able to
bear sometimes.
So many people have told me that infertility ruins marriages, it takes this undeniable wrench and drives people apart. It's almost uncontrollable. And, you know, I get it. You're in such pain, so you project it. Instead of dividing it, you throw it. You want it off of you and unless the dog is willing to take it on, your spouse has to. They have to catch it. There's nowhere else for it to go. But in my case, it's not a child that I want, it's his child. I want to have a little boy or girl who knows they are so unbelievably, out-of-their-mind lucky because they have his hair, his ease, his desire to always see and do more. I want to look deep into my child's eyes and say, "Baby, you see that man? That kind of odd, funny man who still, at thirty-plus years of age, finds it hilarious to fart? I'm lucky to be married to him. He's a really cool husband. But you? You get to be his kid. And that makes you so much luckier than anyone I've ever known. You're never going to doubt that I love you; I'll make sure of that. One day it's going to hit you how fortunate you are to have me. But him? From here on, from this day until the day you die, it will never escape you that you won the damn father lottery." And I'll actually use the word damn because that's just the kind of mother I plan to be.
I'm not sure how we make it through all the pain. I don't know where the strength comes from, honestly. I don't know how we manage to stay sane, rational people when we have every reason to go crazy.
I'm an impatient person, by nature. I want to know now. I want to see now. I want to feel it all now. I Google One Tree Hill Spoilers once a week. SO WHAT OF IT. I wanted to be pregnant a year ago and every day since then. But I have learned something, slowly and surely, through all of this. And it is the single, most beautiful lesson I have learned in life. I have learned that when you want something--when you really want it--you will wait for it. You will be patient and you will hold on and you will wait. Where I can't possibly find the strength to wait for the rest of it, it's been easier than I thought to wait for this. And patience is something this painful journey has given me, has granted me. And I am more thankful for it than there are words in this world.
I've decided not to talk about this process for a while and not because I want to hide anything--goodness, if anything, my family is praying I'll just WITHHOLD for a moment because could I be any more out there?--but because I have a life to live. I'm going to
focus on shoes and lots of champagne until we actually get pregnant and
then oh holy hell do you have a lot of fun posts in store for you. No, really, I feel for you. Well, actually, I really feel for my mother who--unlike all of you lovely men and women--HAS to pay attention to me. But
until then, I'm going to take a break from all the angst and sadness
and wringing of my hands. Instead I'm going to enjoy my
husband. I'm going to enjoy my friends. I'm going to enjoy Top Chef re-runs and US Weeklies (except when Heidi and Spencer are on the cover and I REFUSE TO CALL THEM SPEIDI, DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT SUGGESTING IT) and bubbly bottles of Prosecco and BlogHer and Francesca's dresses and playing Mario Kart with Natalie even though she totally invades my personal space and listening to the new Jason Mraz album and intensely reading the last book of the Twilight series and, fine, Googling John Mayer and Jennifer Aniston photos. I WON'T BE ASHAMED I DO THAT. And also kind of wondering if I can afford to go to Spain on $132. I'm leaning towards no but that won't stop me from researching the hell out of my options.
See, this is all too short to stand still. This is all too beautiful to see it through blurry eyes. This is all to good to be painful.
I am far too lucky to be ungrateful.
So I'll wait. I'll be patient. And I'll go ahead and dance in the mean time.