I frowned at a baby yesterday.
Did you hear that? FROWNED. At a BABY.
He was hanging off his mom’s hip and he was crying and his face was blotchy and wet and I thought he looked really ugly. So I frowned at him. Also, because I was jealous of his mom.
I’m an asshole.
I am writing this post with bad cramps and I am in a fight with A.
I talked about hope last time. I was full of it. no, not shit, hope. I actually really felt hopeful. We did an IUI and I reallllly thought that this was all it was going to take for us. We suffer from severe male factor infertility. All of my tests have come back fine so I was thinking that if we could just get his lazy idiots right to the egg, my body would take it from there.
On top of that I had convinced myself I was pregnant because I thought I had implantation spotting and I was having night sweats which I never get. I googl*d all of my “new” symptoms looking for someone on those forums who have had the same things going on and then ended up pregnant, which would then mean that I would end up pregnant too!
Two nights ago I knew I was getting my period. A came in during a commercial break from ESPN and I was on the bed staring at my phone.
Me: “I’m getting my period” (sad face)
A, blank stare. “ok”
“ok?” Did he just say that? I just sat there when he left the room. I was shell shocked. He has never reacted so flippantly ever. I mean, I may as well have asked him to hand me that pen.
“We’re having enchiladas for dinner”
That would make more sense.
Dumbfounded, I went back to the bathroom and closed the door. I had my phone with me so I put on p*ndora so the room wouldn’t be so deafeningly silent. As I sat on the toilet with my head in my hands (you know, the “fuck my life, I just got my period and all my dreams are dead” position.) a familiar song came on. But it was different. It was more beautiful to me than I had ever heard. It was also so fitting as I was obsessed with my Free Willy soundtrack that beautiful summer of 1993.
Yeah, that was the summer I wore my “Tennis is life, the rest is just details” shirt almost daily, while simultaneously stuffing my feathered bangs under a day-glow greenish hat that looked like a tennis ball. I just really want to paint the best picture here. Also, Umbros.
Anyway, the song. It was Michael Jackson’s “Will you be there.” G*ogle the words.
Just listen to this song!
I needed to hear that song, right then and there. I mean, it’s basically a prayer! I haven’t prayed in a while. I mean really pray. Not like, “Please God let there be wine left in the fridge when I get home.” I grew up in a home where everyone was praying all the time-not like a “scary-weirdo” home or anything, but a very knowingly faithful, spiritual home. I was raised to pray. That should be my first line of defense. I think that after we got our diagnosis I was pretty fed up with maintaining an exhausting relationship with God.
My morning was like a scene straight out of a movie or young adult, tv drama. The song was perfectly sad and inspiring at the same time. I am imagining it shot like Felicity (since Felicity is all I can think about these days as I bang out episode after episode online). Okay sorry. But it’s just- I mean, can Ben Covington please smile at me with his dimples and slowly walk towards me and then grab my head and french me just once before I die!?!?!?
Sorry, I digress.
Back to my movie scene. They would pan back as they stayed on the dimly lit room. We would all cry as we watched this
vibrant beautiful gorgeous makeup-less woman sitting on her bed alone in an empty room. Vulnerable. She is in the throes of her very silent grief, an all too common symbol for Infertility. She will brush herself off and walk out her door like everything is fine and dandy. But she us reminding you that everyone has secret battles and that you need to be a better person. Maybe I’m a narcissist, but I’m really moved.
Anyway, When I as first in my bathroom, my fat cat came in, took a seat, and watched me. I swear she just wanted to be sure everything was ok.
Then, when I decided ti be depressed and camp on the bed today, She came with me and literally reached out her arm and touched my hand. Like how mon or grandma would do it. It was the most precious thing in the world. It’s amazing that I was looking for comfort in my husband who actually understands the issue, and I got what I needed from the f*cking cat. I mean, she pooped on my towel yesterday, and today she was this sympathetic angel who was being kinder to me than my husband.
She reminded me that there really is a God. Or at least, a creator of sorts that wants the best for me and wants me to FEEL GOOD. This creator sent me an adorable cat when a human failed – which was just right for me, and then a beautiful song filled with a reminder on how to let go and be willing to ask for a little help from ‘something” else besides doctors. I am turning A’s lame “ok” into an “I will be ok,” And for that, on this CD1, I am grateful.
And then, in one last ditch effort to make me believe again, the generous Father, Mother God sent me a vodka sale as I walked past the supermarket on my way home.