9 Silent Days

I think my online silence on the TTC (trying to conceive) front is directly linked to the ridiculous belief that if I ignore it, it will surprise me by working.  The truth is, during the two-week-wait it’s on my mind every. second. of. every. day.

If I’m completely honest with myself, not writing about it feels like lying.

And I’m usually such an honest person.

If I’m honest, I’d say that equal parts of my brain thinks that it worked, and that it didn’t work, all at the same time, those two thoughts there congealing in my head in what can only be called complete insanity.

If I’m honest, I’d say that I thought seeing babies EVERYWHERE was only a phase at the beginning of this journey.  They’ve only multiplied, and I’ve only had to reconcile my deep unmet desire with the joys of (and for) others. I still don’t quite know how to do this.

If I’m honest, I’d say that even from the minute we inseminate each time I’m already thinking of names, of the possible month the baby will be born, of what we will do for childcare, and all other completely irrelevant and mundane details.  Perhaps focusing on the details of time and space gives me some sense of control over a frustratingly random phenomenon.

If I’m honest, I’d say that equal parts of my will wants to throw in the towel and give up hope of having children at all, that even with all options layed before us I want to choose drinking martini’s at the bar with friends after work instead. The other part will do anything to have a family of our own, no matter what form it takes.  I’m beginning to have the sneaking suspicion that these two selves will live inside of me forever, no matter which reality turns out to be true.

Or perhaps the “martini” self exists purely for insurance purposes, masking my absolute wish to be a parent with a safety net of an alternate personality I can comfortably wear, but it’s not my first choice.

If I’m honest, I’d admit this trade-off, this pre-emptive sacrifice of what I so deeply want with what might be my fate is what makes me want to scream my frustration from rooftops and then look fate in the face and simply ask, “why?”