Obsession

     I have to confess, I have been obsessing. I wanted so badly to be cool as a cucumber this month and not get caught up in the tantalizing hope that we might just conceive a baby this month. But, I have failed. Things seem to be going so well, too well perhaps. I mean, I am an educated person and I understand the general process of conception, we have made the attempt many months on our own to no avail. Now, just because we have someone telling us when to bump nasties, we could get pregnant? And yes, I understand that I was most likely not ovulating for the majority of the 19 months we were out there on our own, but I also know that I did ovulate on Clomid before and it didn’t work out as we had hoped. I am trying to reason with my poor, muddled, hormone intoxicated brain, to accept the fact that it could happen but it might not happen and there is not always a rhyme or reason for this. Call it fate, call it the will of God, call it luck, but whatever it is the action of creating life cannot always be coerced into occurring on man’s demand (or woman’s demand). I just keep giving my body a pep talk. Like, “Listen up little follicles your job is to be welcoming and accepting to a nice little spermy swimming your way. Invite them in for awhile. And fallopian tubes, just shoot those happy little follicles down into the warm and waiting uterus. Now, uterus you are all prepared for our little guests, so just tuck them in for the next 9 months.” I suppose this kind encouragement is better than all the mean things I have said to my body in the past 24 months. I have been rather unkind calling my uterus inhospitable and my ovaries useless and devoid of the essence that makes me a woman.
     In the meantime, every little twitch every odd twinge, I swear “it” is happening. I hate this feeling of helpless desire, the feeling of having done everything correctly but still running to risk of an unwelcome outcome. My breasts have begun to ache, but I know this is the Clomid. The previous 5 months I took Clomid my breasts hurt so bad I wanted to rip them off of my body and fling them into oblivion. I am tired, but I know my broken toe is not letting me get a good nights rest (and I have never been a “good” sleeper, so sometimes it doesn’t matter what I do, I wake up several times per night). Sometimes I feel a slight pinch on my left lower abdomen (where I believe my ovary would be), but it is probably gas. My back hurts, but that is because my fancy broken-toe shoe is never the same height as my other shoe so I walk lopsided. I am peeing more often, but I am drinking a lot more water as per instructions from the nurse at the Fertility Clinic. I want to let go, just let go of all the past pain, of all the dashed hopes and broken dreams. I want to get wildly ecstatic and giddily start picking out baby items and finding maternity clothes. I want to make celebratory love to my husband, for once in over two years not thinking about getting pregnant. But, I cannot. I hold myself back, trying to protect my tender heart from yet another disappointment. So, I hang onto what little sanity I have until I know definitively what the outcome is.