First off, a confession. I have been, up to this point, a blog
lurker peeper stalker observer. I have been devouring blogs written by other women going through the hell of infertility, hoping to find a thread of commonality, or at least the feeling that we’re not alone. But I have not commented, not because I have nothing to say or don’t want to be supportive, but because I agonize over saying the wrong thing, or saying the right thing in the wrong way, or somehow pissing someone off by what I have to say. Which begs the question, What the f**k am I doing writing a blog???
As I write this, I’m still not sure this blog will ever go public. Selfishly, I’m writing it just for me, and here’s why:
In recent weeks, I’ve been feeling lethargic, moody, and yes, a little hopeless. Hubby and I have been in limbo lately, and not just in the baby-making department. He currently falls into the category of “under employed,” and has been for the last 2 1/2 years or so, which is one of the reasons we waited so long to start treatment. We’re pretty sure that when he does get a job, it’ll mean moving, but we don’t know where yet. The possibilities aren’t even limited to the US. So with every application, we start thinking of what our life would be like in Florida or Arizona or Connecticut or New Zealand or Germany or Canada. And then we start collecting rejection letters with platitudes like “100+ applicants…exceptional pool of applicants…very impressed by your application…” blah, blah, blah. And yet, I’ve had one foot out the door at work, with friends, at home, just waiting for the news that we’re ready to blow this popsicle stand and start over somewhere else. But the new job, the move, the baby, they still haven’t shown up. So, yeah, limbo.
And then there’s Zuzu’s petals. It’s a Wonderful Life was on the other night. (Oh, I guess *spoiler alert* if there’s a person left on the planet who hasn’t seen that movie and happens to be reading this right now.) I caught it toward the end, when George is praying in the bar, only to be subsequently punched in the face by his kid’s teacher’s husband. Right before Clarence makes his appearance and the fun really starts. You’d think I would know everything that happens next, one man touching so many lives, etc. But what I had forgotten was that, after seeing the horrors of Pottersville, the seedy bars, the graves of loved ones, his “old maid” wife, all George wants is to get back to his family. And when he realizes he’s been given back that chance, the first thing he does is reach into his pocket to find…Zuzu’s petals. The one sign that his nightmare is over and he can go back to the noise, chaos, hugs, and yes, magical fixes for broken flowers, that is his home and family.
And I burst into tears. Forget about all the towns people bringing their pocket change to help George get the $8,000 or so he owes the bank, forget the “one life touches so many” crap. I burst into tears at the thought that George Bailey had a beautiful family, and I still don’t.
So this blog, at its core, is an outlet for me. I used to write journals, but I’ve gotten out of the habit. I used to write poetry, and I might post some here, but without deadlines to make me do it, I’ve slacked on that too. And now I have this. I hope I won’t leave posts unfinished (like my poetry) or forgotten under a pile of magazines (metaphorically speaking), and I hope you’ll forgive me if my lurking ways mean I don’t always comment immediately, but I’ll do my best. Right now, that’s all I have.