March 29, 2005
About a month ago, I did something for the first time. I requested an aisle seat when booking a flight. Normally I fly like a child, my nose pressed to the window as we skim through the clouds.
So why, then, did I ask for the aisle? If you're trying to make a baby as badly as me, you already know. I was hoping that I'd be pregnant for the flight (i.e., "powdering my nose" twice an hour).
But alas, the flight is on Thursday, and I haven't so much as ovulated.
When Sort-of-Bad-Things Happen to People-Who-Think-They're-Good
"Why me?" I want to cry with all the drama of someone who's actually had a life-altering tragedy. "How could I not ovulate, just as we start trying to conceive? What did I do to deserve this?"
I've gotten teary-eyed every morning checking my basal body thermometer. I've gotten teary-eyed at diaper commercials. I've gotten teary-eyed just sitting at my desk at work.
I've realized that I won't have a baby in my arms next Christmas. I won't be pregnant in time to announce it to family and friends on Father's Day, at the end of my first trimester. I won't be showing when I visit an out-of-town friend in July.
I've realized how very real my hopes have become at getting pregnant my first cycle of trying.
The emotions I've allowed myself to wallow in would be more appropriate for someone who has been trying for... I don't know, longer than a month? Someone going through IVF? Someone who's had a miscarriage?
So it's time to quit pouting, realize that what's happened isn't that bad-- nor am I entitled to a first-time homerun in the babymaking game.
Put on a Happy Face
In the spirit of ripping my lower lip off the ground, I will now recall all of the wonderful things about trying to make a baby. After all, I spent the last six months thinking that if I could just get to the point of trying to make one, rather than waiting to try to make one, my life would be completely fulfilled. So here goes:
1) The odds of my getting pregnant each month have gone from 1 in 100 to 1 in 4.
2) I can walk into a bookstore, buy a fertility book, and feel completely legit (too bad I've already bought them all).
3) No more questioning whether we should start trying sooner. (That is, no more trying to convince Tom that we don't really need financial stability to start a family.)
4) My imagined pregnancy symptoms at the end of each month might actually be real.
5) Starting each cycle knowing that in a year's time, a three-month-old infant might be suckling in my arms.
So there won't be a baby next Christmas. Maybe there will be one before the next... uh, Super Bowl?