the barren trail

We usually get to church 30 minutes early so Scott can serve up pancakes to all the YM who come to set up chairs. Of course, the girls go with their DaddyMan, as he is EverythingThatIsWonderful and I’m just TheBoringMommaWhoTellsThemWhatToDo. No, really. They treat me like chopped liver sometimes, and it gets to me more than it should. Since I’m the adult in the situation and everything.

So. Off they go with him. And me, with my migraine and my nausea — I sit and wait. Which is fine, except that when you get to church 30 minutes early you somehow anticipate that you’ll thus be prepared for an extra-spiritual experience, instead of just feeling annoyed before the meeting ever starts.

Yes, I am an awesome success story. All the time.

Anyhow, one of the more trying Sacrament Meetings ever, but hey. I survive. Even with the chewing gum that is so old it is only adding to the nausea — and does so in a way that only increases my irritation as it has nothing to do with pregnancy, seeing as I’m barren.

It’s more fun to say barren than infertile while at church, since it sounds all dramatic AND scriptural. Then in the next instant you feel lame, as your scriptural company tends to be women who handled it much better than you seem to be doing.

Relief Society rolls around, and everyone there is pregnant. Okay, not the grandmas, but you know. Just about. I sit by a girl I usually like and she complains that in her state of knocked-up-edness (Susan), she feels like a whale. I turn to the girl at my other side, who I also really like, but who knows a bit more about my situation (Liz), and tell her how glad I am that we don’t do the Good News Minute anymore. (Can I get a hallelujah anyone?) She goes, “Oh, hon! You okay?” and I tear up so fast answering the question is not only impossible but also moot.

I have learned how to cry quietly, and it’s not a total breakdown. I have two delightful girls — two precious, delightful creatures who enrich me every moment. Okay: every moment they’re not fighting. So it’s just a few tears, no deep sobs, no cursing the heavens above. And I realize that for me, considering where I was, that’s progress.

And you’ve got to take progress any time you can get it.

I know we’ll get more kids; I do. How many has yet to be seen, but that’s okay. My relationship with my Father is such that I trust him. I don’t have to see the end from the beginning; the promises I have are enough.

But some days, I hate how you come around the corner expecting to be at your destination, and all you see is more dang trail.