Ah, the plague of the Two Week Wait… obsessing over what the hell is actually going on down there.
I can’t help but try to imagine what’s happening in my bits at the moment. I’ve ceased interpreting every twinge as a sign– good or bad. Now when I feel an unexpected pinch, I just think “That’s my body doing something weird. As you were, Optimism and Hope.”
Instead, I wonder about what’s happening without interpretation. Are there little cells down there dividing and conquering? Or more likely, has this month’s egg self destructed? (And why can’t I just know NOW? Screw patience!)
I wonder why it’s all taking so long, given that there is no medical reason for my sub-fertility (that my doctors have found, anyway.) Why can’t my egg and Mr Ostrich’s sperm just get this party started, damn it? I picture it like a junior high dance. Everyone has shown up, actually showered, maybe put on too much cologne… But there is no mingling. Maybe I should play “Bust a Move.” That usually did the trick in 7th grade. Oooo, how about some slow jams? Like Roni or I’ll be Loving You Forever?
But no junior high dances for me tonight. Instead, I will go see The Mountain Goats and cry in a dark room with other people. (At least I’m being social about it, okay?) John Darnielle gets me. His songs are so cathartic. I can feel like complete crap and they make me feel okay about feeling complete crap. It’s about weathered resilience, which sums up where I am right now. I’ve taken about as much as I can handle, and yet somehow I’m still a generally functioning human being. High-fives for me.
And so I leave you one of my faves, Tallahassee.