So continues the soap opera that is my life.
The countdown is on, with less than two weeks left before I begin daily documenting for all things IVF part II. This time around I have full intentions of enjoying every minute of the process, loving my long and strong lupron nails and proving I can be more powerful than my ridiculous dexamethasone cravings.
Always the optimist, I'm excited to try again, hopeful for a better turnout this time and so very sure this will work. But there's also another darker, more bitter side of me that is terrified of history repeating itself and with a lack of desire to adopt in our hearts (no matter how much we pray for God to give it to us) this very well may be our last chance.
The future is a terrifying place, but I know who holds tomorrow, and as long as I continue to trust that my life is ultimately in God's hands, fearing what may be is really a waste of my time. I'm focusing instead on the present and all I have to be thankful for, and I'm learning that fear is not only pointless, but can cause you to miss out on the best things in life, paralyzing you and holding you back from experiencing the joy that's right in front of you.
I've spent the last three years watching the people I love most dancing around me, cradling their babies and growing precious little ones in their super fertile wombs. I've made the choice to dance with them, holding their children's hands and admiring their growing bellies instead of despising them. I've happily conversed with them about bath times, lack of sleep, teething, and the latest baby products. I've shared their first words, attended birthday parties, hosted showers, smothered them with kisses and joyfully watched them grow, all the while knowing deep down that someday, someway, this will be my life.
But until then, this is my life.
As the world turns, I find myself grateful that my friends and family love me enough not to hold their tongues when I'm in the room, eliminating any awkward silences when a conversation turns to babies, because they know their children are the next best thing to my own. It makes me feel more normal and less infertile when they comfortably share their lives with me, even when it consists of something I want but can't have. It's refreshing to know they love and care deeply about me, but they don't pity me, because I'm still a lucky girl.
I'll probably never be able to avoid the sting of failure when I hear them speak about their plans to expand their family, and I'll always feel like someone punched me in the ovaries as I anticipate their upcoming pregnancy announcements. But thankfully those feelings are pleasantly overpowered by the harsh reality-and my infertility motto-that the world can't stop procreating just because I'm not pregnant.
Babies are a way of life, even if it's not my life.
There's just too much I could have missed through the years if I'd chosen to be so wrapped up in despair that I didn't enjoy today. No matter where it takes us life will go on, and I don't want to spend so much time in envy that I forget to look at what's right in front of me; even if all I can see are children and loved ones pregnant bellies staring back at me.
I'd much rather dance.
"I'd rather spend my time amongst the birds than to waste it, wishing I could fly."