My babymama texted first thing in the morning: her period started. She put a little unhappy face in it. I called B and when he was sad I thought: what is wrong with me? Am I like Chandler Bing, dead inside?
I had some errands to run, so I go to Fred Meyer and it’s full of pregnant women and or newborns. I am not bitter, I smile at them all. I am empty, that’s different. Right?
And I am struck by two simultaneous thoughts: first, it has been five years of trying. Five years! Second, two years ago, when I was on that operating table, they didn’t know what they would find when they went in. It was the most scared I had ever been. I knew that cervical cancer was on the table, an option. I prayed so hard that day, mostly for B, that no matter what it was he would be able to handle it.
But it wasn’t cancer. It wasn’t great news, to be sure. But I had odds. And on days like today, when the idea of trying and failing for five years feels so heavy, I have to remember that I am free. I can tap out of the whole having a kid thing. You can’t do that with cancer.
My point is, I’m lucky. I’m not dead inside, I have some zen power of patience. I am just waiting.