Drops of water sit firmly, hanging onto the windshield. Little beads squeezed from the clouds, each barely missing the chance to remain a snowflake due to the 35F degree temperatures outside.

A gentle right turn sends them swaying to one side.

Despite their wobbling, they remain standing, tiny prisms refracting my life.

But they rarely last. Just as the soft tapping of the raindrops lulls me into a heavy-eyed trance, I reach a Stop sign.  My foot hits the brakes and everything lurches forward.  In one fell swoop, a crashing wave from the roof washes every last bead of water away.

Lately, by 5pm, I always stumble upon a Stop sign. Every fiber of my body responsible for keeping me vertical collapses, and I fall into a pile of goo.

Apparently lugging around an extra two dozen pounds all day while chasing a 4-year old, running errands, and climbing the house stairs, is finally taking it’s toll.

I have been mentally writing this post since Sunday, but not until today have I been able to muster the energy to string two sentences together.

So in these final weeks, while I struggle to stay awake, please know that I am still here, only slower, more cautious.

I’m just carrying a heavy load.

(35 weeks)

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]]> http://www.momisodes.com/pennies-from-heaven/feed 75 http://www.momisodes.com/a-fork-in-the-road-and-i-just-want-to-use-it-to-eat http://www.momisodes.com/a-fork-in-the-road-and-i-just-want-to-use-it-to-eat#comments Mon, 23 Feb 2009 20:17:00 +0000 Momisodes http://www.momisodes.com/?p=1984 I can see the sign fast approaching, and I’m running out of breath. With every day, every week, and every month that passes, it becomes clearer. The reflective yellow diamond bearing two straight arrows grows larger, grows closer. A fork in the road offering just two options.

Veer left, and continue to pursue this long, arduous path of counting days, ovulation and pregnancy tests.

Bear right, and brace myself for a long, arduous, but new journey of blood tests, poking and prodding.

Physicians typically require couples (under the age of 35) to go a full year course of trying to conceive before exploring medical treatments and alternatives. We are entering our ninth month. Albeit, this has not been a straight and narrow path. With job-loss and medical issues, we have certainly hit a few of bumps along the way.

However, there have been many months of stress-free cruising. Months where I’ve charted, tested, and tried with full intent. Then some people suggested to “stop trying”, and just “enjoy trying.” So we did. And the charts, tests, and full intent behind trying were thrown out.

But every month, regardless of which steps led me through the 28 days, my heart aches with every negative test. No one scratches off a losing lottery ticket without feeling a little disappointed.  And with each passing month, the sorrow stacks up with every single, solitary pink line.

Every month, my breasts swell and ache.

Every month, my body becomes tired and exhausted.

Every month, my hunger grows voracious and craves ice cream and Doritos.

But every month, I’m reminded that it is merely Mother Nature’s sick, twisted way of making PMS feel like pregnancy.

With every month, hope fades.

With every month, sadness deepens.

With every month, my will to take one more step forward…weakens.

As I have said before, our journey pales in comparison to so many others.  But those who have faced this fork in the road can understand the hopelessness and frustration that builds over time, and the fear of facing the choice of continuing to try or exploring fertility treatments.

I can no longer walk by our spare bedroom we’ve kept empty, in case we have another child.  The bags and bags of clothes accumulated in our attic, in case we have another child. The infant car seat, bathtub, and changing table we’ve saved.

I’ve read somewhere that couples experiencing infertility after already having a child is incredibly challenging, because they already know what they are missing.  But at some point I will need to accept that I may never experience my belly swelling for another life again. Or feel tiny arms and feet reaching from within.  Babisodes is my child. She is my miracle, my blessing.  Our family may already be complete.

Babisodes now refers to our dog as her “brother”, and her pink Build-A-Bear ballerina as her “sister.”

The images and words cut deep.  Deeper than any heartache I’ve endured.

Because in my heart I already know that this fork in the road really only offers 1 option.  I am not willing to pursue fertility treatments (a personal choice).

I just hope, with what little hope remains, that sometime soon, an off-ramp will present itself along the way.

(aside: Dadisodes has rejoined the work force!)

*Sorry, but I have disabled comments on this post.  It was more of a personal post that I had to get off my chest. Your support means the world, as it has and always will. If you feel you must tell me something, go here. Thank you.