It’s confusing to attempt to control your destiny, because when you have success in controlling certain parts of your life, it makes it seem like you should have a say in most other things, too. In the past year, I’ve had control over the completion of my thesis, control over the types of jobs I applied to, and control over the way I presented and expanded my photo business. I’ve even had some control over whom we’ve chosen for our sperm donor, when we decided to start trying, and how we would take care of the logistics. But alas, as is undeniably true, I simply am not allowed to have control over when I get pregnant.
It’s a lesson that takes surprisingly long to sink in. After the first month, in which I thought, just maybe… magically… it would take on the first try; after the second month, when we had an Insemination Party with our closest friends; even after the third month, when I found a Scrabble letter outside our sperm donor’s door and wrapped it in red ribbon and held it against my heart to give good wishes to the Maybe Baby… Even then, nothing. Intentions do not a baby make. And yet, even as I begin to admit that I cannot decide when the baby will come, I am still altering logistics to increase its chances.
I find I can’t give up caring completely. As painful as the two-week on, two-week off cycle of hope, awareness, and dreams into sadness, failure, consolation is, I find that I have to keep hoping. The third month, after the day of sadness, I thought I’d could go into the next round with as much apathy as I could muster. But it quickly felt wrong. How could I possibly feel apathetic about this potential life growing inside of me for the only first time? So the fourth time I resigned myself, quite happily, to unabashed hope. And it still hurt when it was for naught. But, I think that’s ok.
Light Deluge 