A to B

The decision to stop IVF hurt. It was liberating and heart wrenching all at the same time.

However, I filled my days with more work than I had intended through over-volunteering for projects, book club, classes at an ecological gardening center, yoga classes, and remembering that my husband was not just the magical sperm producer.

The three months we had decided to give ourselves until we decided to begin the long, arduous adoption process slipped by while I was busy not marking days on a calendar or even keeping track of my period. Now January is here, and it’s time.

For a minute there, as I was thinking about where we would take our vacation next year…England, Iceland, Spain…planning kayak trips with girl friends, and weekends away with my airline miles and hotel point, I thought to myself,

This isn’t such a bad life is it? The next ten, twenty years could slip by quite pleasantly like this. 

And then the familiar ache in my heart and wrenching of my gut hit me as I watched a mother with her newborn and talked with one of my friends about how awesome her little daughter was as she grew and learned and turned into a little person.

I am afraid. It has taken me some time to come to that conclusion. More time than it should have. More time than it would have if I was being properly self-reflective and writing.

It is a sneaky fear. It does not confront me head on, rearing a huge, ugly head full of teeth.

Instead, it slithers, like a snake, into the corners of my life. It let me think for a few minutes that this life I am creating in a time vacuum might suffice. It settles into my stomach with queasy ambivalence when DH asks where we should put the desk when we turn the office into a nursery. Somehow his assured optimism, instead of being a welcome reprieve from the doubtful cynicism, feels like an impractical expectation to be handled. The fear creeps up my spine and settles into the taut set of my shoulders when my mind lands on the next step. Mostly though, it is glaringly apparent in my fervent avoidance of the desired end result and fixation on the list of things that need to happen to get from point A to point B.

It may not sound like it from my blog, but I am the type of person you want with you in an emergency. In the face of fear and extraordinary circumstances, everything fades into the background except a very clear, detached picture of what the situation is and what needs to be done to fix it or get through it.

I am afraid of the inevitable heartache that will accompany this process. There are bound to be numerous instances in which the social worker will call to let us know that our file is being considered, only to hear a day or two later that nothing came of the inquiry.

However, if we are going to get to B, we have to focus on A. So once January arrives, I will begin making calls to schedule appointments at several local agencies.