I have this almost ritual toward the end of each cycle. Usually, it comes later, a day or so before my period actually starts. This time, it was today.
The shower is the one place I let loose, don't hold back my emotions. When our friend, John, died, that was the only place I broke down - I didn't want to do it in front of anyone. When my hormones overtake me at the end of a cycle, the shower is my outlet - so that nobody else has to see the pain.
I often pray, talk to God, ask Him for his help - usually not that I am pregnant, but more for strength, for comfort, for knowledge. Sometimes I talk this faceless, name, beingless child; telling it how much I would love it and how much it would be wanted (and I am very much aware of how crazy that makes me sound, but some days, whatever gets you through). Basically, I just use the time to get out whatever needs to come out to allow myself to cope.
I'm not really sure what's been changing lately. The Hubby has made some comments about things we will do - trips we could take, etc. He's sort of hinted at the what-ifs - what if we don't get pregnant, what if we are childless. I think it's sort of been getting to me, but not so much in a bad way.
It's almost forcing me to think, to picture that life, to think hard about getting past all this. See, the hard part for me is giving up a dream - pretty much the only dream I've ever really had. Would I love to travel, explore the world? Absolutely. Would I be disappointed in my life if I didn't do that? Not for a second. Would I love to build a career in writing or editing or start my own bakery/restaurant? You better believe it. Would life feel incomplete if I didn't have those things? Not by a long shot.
No matter what other dreams I've had for myself, being a mom was always number one. When I thought I was going to be this awesome lawyer, I was going to be the kind who was home every night to cook dinner and do homework. When I was going to write the next great American novel (and turn it into a screenplay and win an Oscar), I was going to drive carpool and live in suburbia.
Being a mom was my dream.
And now I may have to find a new one.
I've really been thinking lately about talking to someone, reading a book, something about moving past this. Accepting what could be my fate. Because I don't know how to do things.
How do I make sense of this overwhelming maternal urge? How do I see babies, kids, mommies for their beauty without the pain? How do I stop aching for my child and catching glimpses of faces - in my dreams, both awake and asleep?
Today in the shower, I was thinking about all these things, particularly about these overwhelming feelings I get for the touch or glimpse of a child that doesn't exist. And I started thinking about all the misses moments. And it made me think what if I lived them in my head then shut them off? What would that feel like?
So, I did. I closed my eyes and envisioned the pregnancy test answer I've never seen. And telling The Hubby. And telling my mom. Telling my brothers, which made me laugh because I still don't know how I would tell them or how they would react. I told friends, I told family. I heard heartbeats and saw sonograms. I saw the nursery. I saw labor - I saw my baby for the first time, said her name; I watched The Hubby hold her for the first time - that's when the tears started. I saw my mom. And I saw my stepdad - and I knew he and The Hubby would forever be competing for who was more wrapped around her little finger. I watched our munchkins fall in love with her and wonder why we ever worried how they would handle a baby. I saw firsts - food, words, steps, birthday, school.
More vividly than I ever imagined I could, I envisioned this child that does not exist. And I laughed, and I cried.
Then I opened my eyes.
For a minute, I wondered if I had made a horrible mistake. Was this going to make worse?
Once I got out of the shower, though, I didn't so those images again. I honestly felt like a weight had been lifted. I felt clear, I felt peace.
I have no idea what it means. None at all. I could be pregnant right this minute (well, not really, but in a very basic sense, let's say I could be). Or, I could be headed for yet another failure (despite a spectacular effort) and a permanant break for full out trying.
I just don't know. But, I know that seeing all those things broke my rule - I've tried very hard to not see past this process. It felt wrong to think ahead to that, almost like a jinx.
So, maybe I've just lifted a weight.
(*Seeing this written out, it occurs to me that I sound a bit like a crazy person. I'm not sure I care, but it really didn't feel that way when it happened. It felt theraputic - and nobody was charging $100 a hour for it!)
The shower is the one place I let loose, don't hold back my emotions. When our friend, John, died, that was the only place I broke down - I didn't want to do it in front of anyone. When my hormones overtake me at the end of a cycle, the shower is my outlet - so that nobody else has to see the pain.
I often pray, talk to God, ask Him for his help - usually not that I am pregnant, but more for strength, for comfort, for knowledge. Sometimes I talk this faceless, name, beingless child; telling it how much I would love it and how much it would be wanted (and I am very much aware of how crazy that makes me sound, but some days, whatever gets you through). Basically, I just use the time to get out whatever needs to come out to allow myself to cope.
I'm not really sure what's been changing lately. The Hubby has made some comments about things we will do - trips we could take, etc. He's sort of hinted at the what-ifs - what if we don't get pregnant, what if we are childless. I think it's sort of been getting to me, but not so much in a bad way.
It's almost forcing me to think, to picture that life, to think hard about getting past all this. See, the hard part for me is giving up a dream - pretty much the only dream I've ever really had. Would I love to travel, explore the world? Absolutely. Would I be disappointed in my life if I didn't do that? Not for a second. Would I love to build a career in writing or editing or start my own bakery/restaurant? You better believe it. Would life feel incomplete if I didn't have those things? Not by a long shot.
No matter what other dreams I've had for myself, being a mom was always number one. When I thought I was going to be this awesome lawyer, I was going to be the kind who was home every night to cook dinner and do homework. When I was going to write the next great American novel (and turn it into a screenplay and win an Oscar), I was going to drive carpool and live in suburbia.
Being a mom was my dream.
And now I may have to find a new one.
I've really been thinking lately about talking to someone, reading a book, something about moving past this. Accepting what could be my fate. Because I don't know how to do things.
How do I make sense of this overwhelming maternal urge? How do I see babies, kids, mommies for their beauty without the pain? How do I stop aching for my child and catching glimpses of faces - in my dreams, both awake and asleep?
Today in the shower, I was thinking about all these things, particularly about these overwhelming feelings I get for the touch or glimpse of a child that doesn't exist. And I started thinking about all the misses moments. And it made me think what if I lived them in my head then shut them off? What would that feel like?
So, I did. I closed my eyes and envisioned the pregnancy test answer I've never seen. And telling The Hubby. And telling my mom. Telling my brothers, which made me laugh because I still don't know how I would tell them or how they would react. I told friends, I told family. I heard heartbeats and saw sonograms. I saw the nursery. I saw labor - I saw my baby for the first time, said her name; I watched The Hubby hold her for the first time - that's when the tears started. I saw my mom. And I saw my stepdad - and I knew he and The Hubby would forever be competing for who was more wrapped around her little finger. I watched our munchkins fall in love with her and wonder why we ever worried how they would handle a baby. I saw firsts - food, words, steps, birthday, school.
More vividly than I ever imagined I could, I envisioned this child that does not exist. And I laughed, and I cried.
Then I opened my eyes.
For a minute, I wondered if I had made a horrible mistake. Was this going to make worse?
Once I got out of the shower, though, I didn't so those images again. I honestly felt like a weight had been lifted. I felt clear, I felt peace.
I have no idea what it means. None at all. I could be pregnant right this minute (well, not really, but in a very basic sense, let's say I could be). Or, I could be headed for yet another failure (despite a spectacular effort) and a permanant break for full out trying.
I just don't know. But, I know that seeing all those things broke my rule - I've tried very hard to not see past this process. It felt wrong to think ahead to that, almost like a jinx.
So, maybe I've just lifted a weight.
(*Seeing this written out, it occurs to me that I sound a bit like a crazy person. I'm not sure I care, but it really didn't feel that way when it happened. It felt theraputic - and nobody was charging $100 a hour for it!)
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