I'm glad this cycle isn't my first. Flash back to November, four days after my transfer, I was convinced I was pregnant. I had all the signs, twinges of nausea, sore breasts, food aversions coupled with ravenous hunger (I've mentioned the iced sugar cookies before I'm sure), headaches. Intellectually, I knew that they were most likely the symptoms of the estrogen and progesterone, but I thought to myself, surely these symptoms were on top of the meds. And I recall clearly the interminable two week wait. Every day, every minute, am I? Am I not? I can admit this now, I even went to Pottery Barn Kids. No, no, I did not browse online. I. Physically. Went. to. Pottery. Barn. Kids. I'm convinced the mini-kitchens and stuffed frogs caused my embryos to revolt and jump ship.
I'm doing much better this time. Sure, I think about it, but not with the frequency and intensity of last time. A heightened sense of self brought about by superhuman strength and evolving maturity? No. Just plain superhuman strength and evolving maturity? Unfortunately, nope. I have a cheesy, self help author to thank.
I was traveling several weeks ago and was required to attend an annual meeting with several thousand of my closest friends. Any participant in corporate America knows that a meeting of this size requires a key note speaker with name recognition. (Here's the part where I admit I can't remember the name, but he's the author of a popular series of "feel good" "self help" books). He was a good speaker, but his message wasn't anything new. Believe in yourself. Persevere. Blah, blah. Then he said something that did resonate, not because it was new or eye opening, but because it was exactly what I needed to hear at this exact time in my life. Don't be afraid to dream big. Act on it. Hmmm.
When did I stop dreaming big? When did I start crossing off dreams because they were too big? More importantly, when did I stop thinking of myself as capable of doing many things, having many passions? What I mean is, having a child is not my only dream. In fact, it never was a dream until much later in life. And for several months now I've been letting this one dream scootch all the other dreams out of the basket. The Pottery Barn Kids basket. If I examine all of those times in my life when I was unhappy or not centered, each involves letting one thing, one event, one obsession to crowd out everything else. I need dreams. Plural.
I want this to work. I want my little Mae West blast to shake her thang and grow into that precocious little Minx. I want my little BB to color in the lines in real life. And I've done everything I can to make that happen. But they're not the only eggs in the basket.