It’s been years. Years and years and years. Years of wanting. Years of relaxing, and hoping for an “oops”, and not “not trying”. Years of searching for the right way to go about this “family” thing. Years of solemnly soul-baring to newly minted best girlfriends over too many pitchers of beer that I was, in all likelyhood, barren. Years of admitting there was no formal diagnosis, but knowing that it was probably true.
Those years have culminated in this: I am, according to all reliable sources, infertile.
Of course, in the span of those years, I have been many other things, too. A best friend, but a backstabber at the same time. So uptight I squeak, but at times, promiscuous. A world-saving pseudo-veg recycler chewing on a fast food BLT. A wanna-be housewife who won’t wash a dish. I’ve got a whisk in one hand and a compound miter saw in the other. A computer book in one hand, a viola bow in the other. M&Ms in this hand, and flax-seed granola in that.
I don’t have enough hands.
I’m hoping for this blog to be a place where I can explore the infertile piece of my life through the slightly more irreverent (and apparently, bi-polar) faces that have represented me so much more thoroughly in my life than the “infertile” label ever will.
Here’s to new beginnings. More about me to come…