waiting. and waiting.

I haven't written here in more than a month.  And I can't believe it.

I'm not even really sure why.  Part of me is just trying to get through these weeks leading up to IVF.  Part of me wants to avoid thinking about it and therefore avoid writing about it.  Part of me wants to pretend everything is normal.

But it's not.  My mind is constantly swirling with worry and hope and anticipation and anxious thoughts.  I often wish that at my most recent appointment my doctor, instead of telling me my IVF was being pushed back more than a month, would have said -- We're doing this tomorrow!  Get ready!

What could I do then?  I'd have no choice but to be excited and unprepared and just go for it.  There wouldn't have been these weeks of conflicting feelings and a cloudy head and all the ups and downs that come with waiting.  The waiting that I know all too well and despise so very much.  And today, I would know what the outcome was.

I want nothing more than for January 20th to be here -- the day of my planned embryo transfer.  I want to have completed the process and know that I've done all that I could.  I also don't want January 20th to arrive, because that will mean a new kind of waiting begins.  And when that wait is over, I will have an answer.  If it's the answer I want more than anything in this life, then I can only imagine my joy and excitement and relief and hope.  If it's not, I don't want to even think about the darkness I might feel.  I want to enter all of this as positively as possible, and I really do feel so hopeful and excited, but I am not blind to the other possible outcome.  And it's hard to completely dismiss and keep from clouding my perspective.

As I sit at the library with every intention of studying for my graduate statistics final (I do miss the days of no finals...), I instead turned to my blog.  Because my mind isn't full of formulas or probability or hypothesis testing.  It's full of hopes for our future and the child we so desperately long for.  It's full of questions and anticipation regarding my upcoming procedures.  It's full of fantasies of a plump belly and swollen ankles and movement within.

It is my hope that once this semester is over and I'm able to completely dedicate my energy and focus to the holidays and my family and friends, that my mind will be occupied by the joy and energy of the season.  And when all of it has passed and it's time to go home and return to a quieter life, we will begin IVF.

I can't wait.

someone else's baby.

We went to some friends' for dinner tonight.  The husband is in my husband's class in the Optometry program, and the wife is a friend from a former job (and because our husbands are friends).

The wife and I have known each other for about two and a half years now.  When we first met, we were both in the midst of strong baby desires.  We were fighting them off because our husbands were just beginning their four-year programs, but we both admitted we couldn't help but hope we'd have babies in the near future.  We talked fantasies constantly at work (our offices were joined by a doorway) -- baby names, pregnancy, birth plans, doulas, baby showers, announcements, etc.  Everything.

Her older sister had endured struggles with infertility for three years or so and had basically been told there was nothing more they could try if they weren't interested in attempting IVF.  She wasn't.  The wife and I used to talk about our sympathy for her sister and brother-in-law.  How awful it would be to know you couldn't have your own children.  How hard on a marriage.  How difficult to have to abandon your biggest dream.

Funny looking back.

My husband and I began trying during this time, and although I was acutely aware of the possibility of infertility, I told myself I'd be pregnant very soon.  I didn't tell a single soul we were trying.  No one.  I wanted it to be our secret, and I wanted our joy to be private when it worked.

Instead, though, our friends got pregnant.  First try. 

We had only been trying five or six months, so even though I was jealous, I thought our turn was just around the corner.  But it wasn't.  I watched her pregnancy.  I went to her baby shower.  I met her sweet daughter at the hospital the day after delivery.

And tonight I held the six-month-old baby girl.  I've held her dozens of time in the months since she was born.  But tonight I touched the bottoms of her feet.  I squeezed her little thighs.  We nuzzled our heads together.  And I imagined, for just half a second, what it might feel like to experience all of that -- to make those observations -- with my own baby, whether it be biological or adopted.  My baby.

It was one of those moments that stops your heart for just a moment.  I frequently get those glimpses, and when I do, I can't even distinguish whether they make me happy or sad.

Probably both.