It's really fucking hot out there.
Summer is here. Niblet graduated from kindergarten. I have lost a few pounds and gained a few pounds, all in the last month. Niblet had an ear infection, I am fighting a sinus infection. Work stress is at an all time high right now, and I am pulling all-nighters to get my act together. I took some Robitussin DM last night and all I can say is whoa, I feel high and loopy even a full day later.
And I am about to ovulate. Husband and I have done our parts to ensure that we didn't miss my fertile period... but... my heart isn't in it. I just don't expect anything positive to come of it.
Maybe it's healthier this way. Maybe this is how you let go of a dream, not with a grand proclamation and sweeping theatrical arm gestures, but slowly, quietly, you begin to just accept. Deep in your bones. The yearning is there - the yearning never leaves - but you find grace in the gifts you have been given, and inch by inch let go of a drive that has consumed you.
Three years. I have been on this god-awful roller-coaster for three years.
Five rings on my hand.
I am tired. Maybe I am speaking out of exhaustion right now (I'm talking to you Robitussin DM)....
It's not that I don't believe it's possible. Strangely, after everything I have been through, I actually do. A 43 year old friend just gave birth to a beautiful baby girl after three losses. Other stories of hope loom out there, it's like they poke their heads in on me from time to time to remind me that anything is possible.
But this goal I have been working towards, to slowly but surely accept that my fertility story won't end on a joyous note of miracles, well... this goal post is more visible each day. I think that in the wake of saying goodbye to Celine, I was so driven by this need to rewrite the ending. The universe hit me with a series of astoundingly awful blows, and I was all, fuck off universe I am going to keep rising up again like a Phoenix and show the world what can be achieved with nothing but grit and perseverance.
But perseverance has a limit. And all the perseverance can't stop my body from aging. I'm fit, I'm healthy, man, I am downright youthful. The narcissist in me posts the occasional selfie on facebook and revels in the comments about how I never seem to age. But I am aging. For whatever reason, (and frankly, I think there is no reason), I was dealt a hand of recurrent loss in my thirties that I couldn't shake, and I have carried this hand into my forties.
If I didn't have Niblet I think I might fight harder... NO, I know I would fight harder. I would pursue IVF and stim my ovaries to kingdom come in order to have a shot at motherhood. I would sink every penny I have into donor eggs if necessary. But this is money we really don't have. And the battle scars of IVF are not the tale my body is supposed to tell. And being completely, brutally honest: I just don't have that kind of fight in me.