I was finally allowed to get my ears pierced when I was 12 years old. We went to the Mall, to the store with the seat in the front window. Piercing Pagoda, I think it was. No appointments necessary. Just come in, sit in the chair, get pierced. Ears, that is. We got to the store and a girl my age was already in the piercing chair. Wailing. The Piercer hadn't even come close to the girl's ears yet, but the girl was terrified. I looked at my Mother. I'm sure my worry was palpable. She said let's just take a walk. And walk we did. We walked until my courage returned. I remember clearly making a decision, taking a deep breath and getting it done. Silver hypoallergenic balls in my ears and birthstone earrings I could switch out in 6 weeks. Amethysts.
I have felt like the girl getting her ears pierced many times during this process. Both girls. The one terrified of the unknown. The own who made a decision, screwed up her courage, got it done. Which one depends on the day. I never thought that my decision to have a child would be anything other than easy. Do what comes naturally and the desired outcome naturally occurs. It didn't. I chose invitro. The shots, the pill, the raging hormones. (The combination of progesterone and estrogen last November drove me to eat four not-dainty iced-sugar cookies in thirty minutes. Four.) And for many of the steps (not the sugar cookies) I had to take a walk, screw up my courage and get it done.
The arrival of my spear fishing needles earlier this week nearly did me in. I'm not sure why (other than the size, obviously). But I took one look at them and could feel the tears welling. I have to do this? I have to do this? It's just too damn much. Your kind, helpful comments did indeed help me off the ledge, back through the window, and down the stairs. Thank you.
And, as often happens, what we conjure up in our minds is far worse than the reality. I made it to the chair. The shot wasn't bad. Probably less painful than getting my ears pierced.
No amethysts, thank you. Diamonds should work.