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So…yesterday’s post was a bit of a Debbie Downer.

Sorry.

After looking at my calendar I realized 3 things.

1) Holy crap! It’s the eve of New Year’s Eve.

2) I can’t end the year with such a depressing post.

3) I have not posted an update about our Christmas, the New Year, ghosts, or anything in such a long time!

So bear with me if you will.  Here is a laundry list of “stuph” that should wipe my slate clean for the New Year.
Read the rest of this entry »

Drinking. Smoking. Out of the country.

That’s where I was about 4 years ago.

Back then I was in still in my *ahem* twenties.   Celebrating New Year’s Eve down in Mexico with then Fiancésodes.  Dancing, clinking champagne flutes, washing down all worries of my future in-laws ruining our lives upcoming wedding with their usual drama.

Little did I know, I had bigger fish to fry.

I was a few weeks pregnant and totally unaware.  After all that I had witnessed in my career as a neonatal ICU nurse, getting pregnant was not at the top of my agenda at the time. At least, not until I could find a way to erase every memory of how a patient’s pregnancy and childbirth went wrong, or perhaps after I was married for a few years and switched to another specialty.  Anyhow, popping a daily pill was my method of contraception until then.

Although birth control pills are statistically 99% effective, I was fortunate enough to be part of the 1% that fell through the cracks.  And I use the word “fortunate” because part of me knows that I may have never mustered up the courage to get pregnant otherwise.  That if left to my own devices to find the “right time,” age, financial situation, etc, etc. my life may be void of Babisodes today.

It was through my own sudden pregnancy and childbirth that I proved to myself that not all pregnancies ended in 1-pound babies.  Every pregnant woman doesn’t have to leave the hospital empty-handed.  That my belly could actually stretch to ungodly proportions.  Most of all it proved that I too had the strength, courage and will to make it through excruciating labor pains for hours on end and live to tell about it.   That I could do it.

And although it did not all unfold the in the order or time frame I had hoped, I am eternally grateful it happened.  Period.

Only now, I want it again.

And as frightening as my crash course into motherhood was 3 years ago, the reality today is even more fearful.

It’s been over 6 months since we started trying for child #2.  Actually it’s been 6 months of trying, not trying at all, charting, tracking, and then not trying again.   And last night I finally cracked.

I cried.

Although 6 months seems like small potatoes to most Ob/Gyn’s and couples suffering from infertility, I just didn’t see this coming.  Especially as a couple that never even tried the first time around.

The disappointment, frustration, and want for something so badly that doesn’t even exist yet.  Like the constant flow of waves ashore, it’s slowly carrying pieces of my mind and self away.  Each month my period crashes down, eroding what was once a wide shoreline of hope.

Babisodes is becoming more keenly aware of her friends having brothers and sisters, characters on TV having brothers and sisters, the stuffed animals in her room having brothers and sisters.

Perhaps this is why I pulled away from the blogosphere during the holidays.  Aside from the feelings of guilt and letdown on yet another month gone by, about 30-40% of the bloggers I read are now pregnant. And I am just thrilled for every single one them.  I shed tears of joy and pain with them through their posts.  But I would be lying if I didn’t admit a tiny piece of my heart aches, wishing I were pregnant, too.

As if I’m reliving part of my adolescence. Noticing that girls around me are filling out their bras, while I look down with shoulders hunched forward, still waiting for mine to do the same.

Sad thing is, I’m still waiting.

I guess that is my greatest fear.  That I will always be waiting. Month after month. Year after year.

That what I want so badly for my family and myself just isn’t in the cards.

Don’t get me wrong. I am thrilled that in each hand I have Dadisodes’ and Babisodes’ hand to hold. But looking on, there is an underlying sorrow of seeing Babisodes walking alone, empty handed, as time marches on without us.

My apologies for the novel length, melancholy post.  If you made it this far, you deserve a medal…or a stiff drink.

Perhaps what I need to do is just wash it all away this New Year.

Maybe a tall glass of champagne, a cigarette, and a marathon night of watching the Travel Channel will help.