I was going to write a long post about where we are with the fertility clinic and such. But I had a revelation last night, so instead I'm going to sum it up in short order. Allen is fine. It's just me. We have a follow-up appointment on March 1, but I'm not even sure I care to go. It's a little ridiculous that they get you in so quickly for the first visit and then make you wait weeks and weeks for the next one, but I'm shaking that irritation off and moving forward instead.
So, the revelation. I have been getting pretty worked up in the past few weeks about all of this. I had a complete meltdown over absolutely nothing last week. I accused Allen - completely unfairly - of not making this (having kids/starting a family) a priority. To his everlasting credit, he took it in stride and gave me exactly what I needed: a big hug. Patience is not one of my virtues, but I've been trying to get through the last few weeks with some words of wisdom from my sister (in law) and a sweet friend. My sister said, "you are doing exactly what you are supposed to be doing." It's nice to be reminded that we are doing everything we can right now and we will make progress at the rate we are supposed to. Don't get me wrong, this is a far cry from "everything happens for a reason." That particular sentiment makes me want to scream. This is more like "you are doing everything you can and you just have to let it happen." I've been repeating that to myself.
My sweet friend said the other day, "all of the emotional turmoil and the fear and worry all evaporate once you actually have your child in your arms." I have been clinging to that like a freaking life raft. When I am most frustrated, I think of those words and remember that this is a temporary feeling and that we will be parents for the rest of our lives.
But none of that is the revelation I had. Allen and I were sitting on the couch last night, watching something stupid on Netflix (Stargate: Atlantis, actually. I know. I said it was stupid!) and eating gingersnap s'mores. Allen had brought home all the fixin's for s'mores as a Valentine's treat, and it hit me. I am pretty young. My husband is pretty young(er). Sitting on the couch, spending time together, high quality snuggles, eating junk food and watching junk TV... I should be relishing these moments, not filling them with anxiety about children. Most of the people we met at info seminars at adoption agencies are much older than us. Scott Simon and his wife were in their late 30s and late 40s when they adopted their first child. We have time. I have the best husband I could have ever dreamed of, and I need to focus on enjoying my time with him and being the best wife I can be. I need to stop filling our moments together with worry and stress and anxiety over something I can't control. Once we do have kids, I will be so glad that we had these moments together, just the two of us. (Well, just the two of us and 5 kitties...)
We have time. We have each other. If I become a mother at age 39, well, that wasn't part of my plan, but it's still amazing and wonderful and a precious, precious gift. And in the mean time, I'm going to try to embrace the life that I have, and try my very hardest to not take it for granted. We have time.
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