I have garnered a few followers, and for that I’m grateful. I’m not sure HOW it’s happened, exactly- but I’ll take it. There’s something cathartic about sharing all this shit. I had EXPECTED this blog to be more about the ins-outs of fertility treatments and Maybe Baby steps, but it’s turned into a place where I vent and share my reality with myself.
As a person who lives with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Major Depressive Disorder, I realize that it can get dark in here. After all, I titled it about “Lies”!
But right now, what my heart needs is to not think about the fear and dark corners. My heart needs a space to dream in… a guilty indulgence of moments where I think about if/when Maybe Baby becomes reality.
It’s a dangerous space, it makes my heart grow to sizes that I fear it can’t recover from if it breaks. But I need it. I need to beat back the fear of doctors who have too much control, hormones not just right, karma, genetics…
The scene comes into focus…
The room is clinical, doctors at the ready, but I’m not giving up on doing this as naturally as I can. I wish I was young enough and thin enough that I could have done this in a birth center or at home, but I won’t complain. Few interventions, but monitored to the gills… I’m a trooper and get it done, compromising with the doctors along the way. It’s always a girl, this Maybe Baby, though I’m confident I’d be a good mother to a boy, too. She comes out with eyes we cannot really tell the color of and a head of downy soft dark brown hair.
My mother is there, my favorite sister. My two best friends and my mother-in-law and sisters-in-law. Partner is next to me the whole time and he cries when our daughter is handed to him… immediately smitten and committed to this gift it took moving mountains to get to. This little daughter will have her God Mother and God Father there for the moment of her birth. A grandfather will be in the waiting room, uncles and cousins at hand there too, a grandfather in heaven watching and helping her soul into this world. My other sister will likely be on the phone… maybe Skype during the big moment?
Our daughter goes home with a name- Charlotte or Cora, Eden, Elora, Gillian, Hailey, Hope, Ione or Isla. Lark, Malin, Rowan, Sarah, Scarlett or Tessa. She loves to sleep, like her Momma. I’ve decided to use disposable diapers, but I’ll continue to agonize over that fact for the months (years?) to come. She’ll wear simple, comfortable clothes, but we’ll have fun dressing her up from time to time. I’ll work to be sure she’s just a little girl, not make her a mini-adult in her wardrobe choices.
Her room, it’s not a nursery, though I’d want it to be… wish it were. I’m just not organized enough or concerned enough with decor of the home to make it posh. In my dreams it’s a shabby-chic look… English garden with a large dash of practical.
Breast milk comes in easily and we figure it out quickly. Partner and I learn a dance of shared responsibility and he dotes over our daughter. OUR DAUGHTER. Partner thought that he’d be firm about her sleeping in her own cradle or crib, but it’s pretty obvious that she’ll be in our bed for at least these first weeks.
The maternity leave is stressful, but bliss. I’ll be working hard with counselors, doctors, and psychiatrists to make sure that we watch for and handle postpartum depression symptoms right away, nip it in the bud. I’ve never been so tired, but never so sure of my purpose as I am now. This little girl grows strong and my heart gets impossibly big, holding all that new love for our little family. She’s pure potential. I’ve finally been able to fulfill my duty in this life and I don’t know what her future is, but my soul was so sure she needed to BE that it must be important.
Fade to black, roll credits.