I hate the two week wait. I HATE IT. I monitor every. single. tweak in my body — and long to be an ignorant woman who one day happens to notice she hasn’t had a period in awhile and might be pregnant.
I’m so afraid to let myself be hopeful. I’m afraid to feel the sadness that comes with another cycle wasted, another period, another month older. It’s so paralyzing and I don’t want to feel it this month. I want my shot at motherhood. Isn’t it my turn? When will it be my turn? What if I never get a turn?
I bought something for our baby. I’m sick of buying things for other people. I was shopping (and shopping, and shopping) for someone else’s baby, and I just decided to do it. I told my husband I was going to buy our baby something every cycle until s/he gets here. It borders on insane, I know. (I won’t even tell you that I touch the soft material every day and tell my baby I love him/her — oh.. I guess I just did). But I have two little sleepers and an adorable little stuffed duckie rattle that says that it has to be my turn soon. It HAS TO BE.
I plead with the universe everyday. I ask our baby to please come into our lives. Everyday.