Greed + Longing, But Mostly Waiting

I have become a greedy child on Christmas morning waiting for any sign of early pregnancy. Bloating, exhaustion, whatever it might be I will not be picky. Please let me puke this morning, please let me puke. I hastily check the fertility tracking app on my phone several times a day as if it could possibly know something I do not; as if artificial intelligence could predict what doctors cannot explain.

When you are battling Infertility desperation becomes a new part of your human nature.

I had to turn off my social media this Saturday. Too many babies and pregnant bellies. I am not unhappy or bitter for these people, but when Longing begins to strengthen its grasp I have taught myself to shift my focus to the present. I do not need distractions. The best cure is simply finding gratefulness for what is already in front of me.

This morning, driving June to preschool, I saw a herd of cows speckled across a newly green pasture. The rain pelted against their backs, yet they didn’t seem to notice. Each of them, standing there, had but one thing on her mind: feeding her hunger. Heads down, completely focused, they ate only the grass before them, unconcerned with the weather they could not control.

For two and a half years, this week of my cycle has brought a flux of emotions. This month it is sorrow. A deep sorrow I have never experienced before. If my period comes this week, I am not sure how I will feel. To protect myself, I hear my inner voice warning, “there is no baby within you.” Then immediately, I regret this negative outlook. I should only be sending positive energy out there- repeating my mantras, holding on to Hope, believing in what I cannot see: the ultimate test of Faith. But, I have learned the heartbreak that cycles bring and realistically, part of me knows that it may be wise to begin staking and storing cans in the underground shelter to prepare for the storm ahead.

At this phase of my journey with infertility, there is no predicting. There is no planning. There is no guarantee. There is only waiting. I let the reality of this wash over me with the morning rainstorm- a baptismal reset for the week ahead. What Will Be has already been done for this month and so all I can do is wait for the storm to cease, to search for the sunshine again.

I think of a summer day Sean and I once spent when we were dating. We were driving to the lake with the windows down in my old Subaru listening to Tom Petty. The lyrics find me now, swirling with the mess of my windblown hair, raw and filled with Truth: waiting is the hardest part.