**God only knows how much strength it took me to use a Sarah Palin quote for the title of this blog. Let’s just say if it didn’t fit so damn well, I wouldn’t have used it.**
Last night I was in my backyard with Rocky the Dog and Mom, as she was visiting for the evening. We were talking about lots of things, but mostly about the babay situation. The Mister and I just hit another roadblock on our path to conceive a child. Due to physiological things beyond our control, it turns out the chances of conceiving a child the good-ol-fashioned-have-fun-while-trying-and-such way are slim to none. And slim, as slim usually does, has left town without providing so much as a forwarding address. Thus, we’ll have to go through a process called IUI or intra-uterine insemination. If that doesn’t work, our only choice is IVF or in vitro fertilization. Both are costly, both require immense patience.
I found all of this out on Monday afternoon at my appointment with the reproductive endocrinologist. And from the minute I left the building (I managed to keep it together while I was there) until now, all I can feel about it is utterly disappointed. Disappointed that things can’t just happen naturally. Disappointed that we can’t just give it a college try. Disappointed that I know now that this road is going to be rougher than I even imagined–and I imagined it being pretty rough.
The Mister took it pretty well. The tenor of his response was that we’d do what we need to do and go from there. I guess he didn’t get the memo that I wanted to sulk about it for awhile.
But then again, I guess no one but me got that memo, because last night in the backyard, Mom, despite having a tough time getting through to me with her encouraging words about hope and perseverance, kept trying to get me to look on the proverbial bright side. I know it’s hard to sulk with someone, but that’s what I wanted. I wanted to dwell on it. I wanted to think it through. I wanted to just be blue about it until I got over it. That’s how I roll. I roll hard and fast and sometimes just need to sulk through it until I get to the other side. I need to have days when I see new families walking through a Logan’s Roadhouse waiting area and want to slap the diaper bag out of their hands and run away with an evil laugh trailing behind me.
I just need that.
But then she pointed it out. The lilac bush. The one I wrote about last year blooming into life and reminding me of my beloved Nana. The one that gave me hope. The one that gave me the power to believe that my circumstances were bound to change.
That damn bush was already blooming.
And in that moment, I knew that all the hopey changey stuff in the world was probably a good thing, not just an annoyance to destroy my otherwise good plans of sulking for days on end. I knew that even though this road is going to be lengthy and devastatingly painful, I’ll come out on the other side. I did it before. I can do it again.
That damn bush reminds me of so many things. But in the whispers of the evening breeze, just before drifting off to sleep, that bush reminds me that there’s infinite room for change in life. There are infinite possibilities that lead to new life circumstances.
There is, despite my better attempts at sulking, hope that leads to change.