It’s been over a week since my last post. That never happens. I’ve had all kinds of potential topics and ideas floating around in my head, but none of them seemed to solidify into words. So today I’m writing about penguins.
For some inexplicable reason, CNN was showing March of the Penguins this past weekend (perhaps to remind those in the eastern half of the country that it could be worse?). Hubby and I watched it together years ago, and since then, I’ve seen bits and pieces of it here and there. And each time, I am struck again by what these penguin parents go through just for the chance at propagating the next generation, with no guarantees. The responsibility each of them takes, the risks they are willing to put themselves through for food and survival in the brutal cold, the mournful cries when an egg or vulnerable chick freezes to death or dies of starvation.
Our journey to parenthood (which is far from over) may not have been quite as harrowing, but, like the penguins, Hubby and I each played our parts and took responsibility for each step of the process, both separately and together. He endured over a year of tri-weekly injections, countless “donations” to the lab, to be scrutinized and quantified. Later, I injected myself with hormones, put my feet in the stirrups for every-other-day encounters with the trans-vag invader, and went under anesthesia for egg retrieval–twice. And twice we both watched in awe as Dr. C transferred our potential children into my uterus. Then, we waited, hoped, despaired, hoped again, waited, and were finally rewarded with a healthy pregnancy. And once Thumper arrives, I have no doubt our partnership will continue.
Last weekend, during an attempted walk (in spite of chilly weather and persistent pelvic pain) Hubby dubbed me “Penguin.” Apparently, I now waddle. It has little to do with my girth. Although I have been feeling heavier the past week or so, the belly isn’t particularly in my way or inhibiting my mobility. It’s my crotch that protests any time I travel at more than a snail’s pace. That, and the fact that I had my hands in my pockets to keep them warm, earned me the nickname, complete with Hubby’s hilarious imitation of my new gait.
So, I guess I’m a penguin. And guess what? So are all of you.