Oh, the joy of the two week wait. The hope that this could be it, that one of my lovelies could be burrowing in and getting cozy for a nice long ride. And the fear that this will be yet another failure, the final defeat in our journey to a real live baby.
I’m reluctant to feel either hope or fear. I don’t want to give voice to either feeling lurking deep within. I don’t want to feel hope or hopeless. I’m terrified of peeing on that stick and seeing that glaring blank empty white space.
If it works, I know there will be so many other hurdles to face, but I will embrace the possibility. If it fails, I will face a lifetime working through how I will ever accept the cold hard fact that we will never become parents to a living child.
If it works, I will praise nature and science and the good in the universe for giving us another chance. If it fails, I will have to try and find a way to forgive my body, my empty womb, and the fertile world. Life will go on either way. With or without that second line.
After a day and a half on bedrest, life has resumed to normal. Well, as normal as possible. I learned long ago not to pay attention to every twinge or I’d go mad. Besides, the meds can trick you into believing all kinds of delusional thoughts. Returning to work was a busy distraction, and I found myself doing some deep breathing to get me through some moments that could have otherwise been stressful. Right now, none of it really matters. There is only this.
So now I just wait. And wonder and hope and dream and ponder and fear and pray and wish…