Here's a profound observation - life doesn't always turn out like you think.
As we said in my obnoxious youth, no duh. Growing up, kids think being an adult is all about having freedom, i.e. control, but as I age, I believe it's mostly about realizing just how little control we have. Life is very much a game of timing and chance.
I remember playing a game as a child, naming four boys, four careers, four types of houses, cars, etc., then drawing a spiral with my eyes shut for a few seconds. You counted the rings of the spiral, then counted through your choices to that number, crossing out the choice you landed on. Over and over the counting went, until the player was down to one choice in each category, and that was who you would marry, where you'd live, etc.
One of those categories was how many children you'd have. I don't remember anyone ever putting 'zero' down as one of the choices, any more than we would have put down "nobody' as a possible spouse choice. We all presumed life would progress the 'normal' way - first comes love, then comes marriage....you get the jist.
In my twenties, I spent no small amount of time, care and worry making sure those life progressions took place in what I was raised to believe was the correct order. Hey, I'm a Southern girl. My mama raised me a certain way.
Even when I married at 29, I was in no rush to bring a child into the picture. I could kick myself now for being to cavelier about the passage of time, but at 30, I liked our life just like it was. I truly felt that if it were just me and B forever, that would be fine. And I didn't want to have a child just because it seemed like the logical next step in life. A child, I reasoned, should come when it was wanted more than my next breath.
Sounds great. Just one problem - I presumed, stupidly, that my body would cooperate with all of this. It never crossed my mind that when I got ready, the universe wouldn't just hand me what I wanted.
Have no doubt, I am now ready. It was my happiness with B that once gave rise to thoughts that the two of us alone might be enough, but now that happiness has grown, and I want so much to create and raise a child with this wonderful man. I want that little piece of him; to look at my child's face and see his features; to see my husband's wonderful character, humor and intellect in my baby.
But after over a year with no precautionary measures and a few months of calculated efforts, no baby. I've had dozens of positive ovulation tests and one positive pregnancy test that evaporated the next day, leading me to believe all is in working order, but nothing to show for it but a higher frustration level.
I don't want to give up hope, but as days and months pass, I am beginning to worry. I worry I will never get pregnant, but I also worry that I will. I can't ignore the risk that rises as I age - risk of complications and health problems for me, and those take a back seat to the chance my baby will suffer because I delayed so long. How long is it okay to keep trying, readers? When do I begin to explore other options? Or do I keep trying for the duration, believing God will deliver the desires of my heart?
Just like the decision of when to start trying, the decision of when to stop haunts me. It's a decision I never thought I'd ever consider, and now it seems to be the only one that matters.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
I'm really not all about me.
I mean, I think of others. I consider feelings other than my own. My whole job, in fact, revolves around taking on the worst of what happens to others and shouldering that burden of seeking justice on their behalf. I *don't* just barge through life worried about number one. Really, I don't.
But just try to tell my husband that. Oh, no. You try to protect yourself one little time, and suddenly you're all about throwing everybody else under the bus, into the line of fire. I say, you can't blame me. I blame my job. It gets in your head, always making you think the worst.
Case in point - last weekend. My husband and his friend do a little call in radio show on Friday nights. We live in South Georgia, and football isn't big here. It's everything. They spend six hours every Friday night talking about high school football. Hundreds of people call in to pontificiate. It's kind of a thing.
First, from 6 p.m. until the games start, they talk about what games are going to be played that night. People call in, make predictions, talk about the various permutations of what could happen that night and the playoff implications.During the games, people call in to give score updates, describe what's happening at whatever game they are at. They also have a report on Georgia Bulldog football that they do during that time. Then after the game until midnight, people call in and talk about the games played that night, the playoff implications, and who is playing who next week.
I like to say they talk about what's going to happen, then they talk about what's happening, then they recap what just happened. For six hours.
Rather than stay home alone, sometimes I like to go with them to the city they broadcast from and spend a little me time while they're doing the show. I have dinner alone, go the bookstore, and usually see a movie. I pitched an idea where I would see a different chick flick every Friday night, review it on the show, and maybe the movie theater would give a free pass in exchange for the publicity. The boys thought it was better to stick to football. Whatever.
So last Friday, I tagged along as usual. The boys like to go eat before the show, so I accompanied them to their favorite chinese restaurant. They love this place - it's cheap, the portions are HUGE, and the staff knows them by name. I love it because it is spic and span clean every time we go in there.
We got to the place just after their 5 p.m. opening, walked in the door expecting to hear our normal shouted greeting. Nothing. There was nobody there. No customers, no staff, no cashier, nothing. We wait, and wait, but......nothing. B and his buddy start walking back toward the kitchen area, when they look around for me, and I'm.....well, I've got one hand on the door, ready to make a run for it.
Maybe I'm too into my job, maybe I've seen one too many movies, but for that few seconds I had no doubt in my mind what was going on. The nice Asian man who usually greets us and his cheery wife were in the office, hands on heads, on their knees, and gunmen were cleaning out the place. I was absolutely sure the place was getting robbed. So when B and his pal asked me what the heck I was doing, I didn't filter. I told them straight out - "if this place is getting knocked over, I"m getting the f#$% out!"
Of course, thankfully, the staff was just in the kitchen, prepping for a busy night. B and his friend are still laughing at me.
But I still maintain it was a logical conclusion.
I mean, I think of others. I consider feelings other than my own. My whole job, in fact, revolves around taking on the worst of what happens to others and shouldering that burden of seeking justice on their behalf. I *don't* just barge through life worried about number one. Really, I don't.
But just try to tell my husband that. Oh, no. You try to protect yourself one little time, and suddenly you're all about throwing everybody else under the bus, into the line of fire. I say, you can't blame me. I blame my job. It gets in your head, always making you think the worst.
Case in point - last weekend. My husband and his friend do a little call in radio show on Friday nights. We live in South Georgia, and football isn't big here. It's everything. They spend six hours every Friday night talking about high school football. Hundreds of people call in to pontificiate. It's kind of a thing.
First, from 6 p.m. until the games start, they talk about what games are going to be played that night. People call in, make predictions, talk about the various permutations of what could happen that night and the playoff implications.During the games, people call in to give score updates, describe what's happening at whatever game they are at. They also have a report on Georgia Bulldog football that they do during that time. Then after the game until midnight, people call in and talk about the games played that night, the playoff implications, and who is playing who next week.
I like to say they talk about what's going to happen, then they talk about what's happening, then they recap what just happened. For six hours.
Rather than stay home alone, sometimes I like to go with them to the city they broadcast from and spend a little me time while they're doing the show. I have dinner alone, go the bookstore, and usually see a movie. I pitched an idea where I would see a different chick flick every Friday night, review it on the show, and maybe the movie theater would give a free pass in exchange for the publicity. The boys thought it was better to stick to football. Whatever.
So last Friday, I tagged along as usual. The boys like to go eat before the show, so I accompanied them to their favorite chinese restaurant. They love this place - it's cheap, the portions are HUGE, and the staff knows them by name. I love it because it is spic and span clean every time we go in there.
We got to the place just after their 5 p.m. opening, walked in the door expecting to hear our normal shouted greeting. Nothing. There was nobody there. No customers, no staff, no cashier, nothing. We wait, and wait, but......nothing. B and his buddy start walking back toward the kitchen area, when they look around for me, and I'm.....well, I've got one hand on the door, ready to make a run for it.
Maybe I'm too into my job, maybe I've seen one too many movies, but for that few seconds I had no doubt in my mind what was going on. The nice Asian man who usually greets us and his cheery wife were in the office, hands on heads, on their knees, and gunmen were cleaning out the place. I was absolutely sure the place was getting robbed. So when B and his pal asked me what the heck I was doing, I didn't filter. I told them straight out - "if this place is getting knocked over, I"m getting the f#$% out!"
Of course, thankfully, the staff was just in the kitchen, prepping for a busy night. B and his friend are still laughing at me.
But I still maintain it was a logical conclusion.
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