I am not crazy, but today I heard something profound. It didn’t come in yoga or in some great piece of literature. Rather, it came from a 45 second clip I heard on NPR. Some musician was talking about the power of the imagination and how we can imagine the path before us. The problem with most of us, he said, is that we’re in an imagination cul-de-sac. This got me thinking. I don’t believe that everything I want is out there. I’m not pessimistic; I’m just a pragmatist. I also don’t believe I can “call in” everything I want if I focus hard enough. I’m not lazy; I just know that bad shit does happen to good people … like me and all the other infertile girls I know. So why did this idea of an imagination cul-de-sac strike a cord? Well, I think it did because I’ve been in an infertility cul-de-sac for more than two years. And I’m ready to break out. I know that this desire to break out comes with some risk. My breakout might include kids or it might not. Both options come with their own pros and cons, but, regardless, I’m just tired of where I am. I’ve put a lot of things on hold for our baby-making efforts. We’ve put a lot of time and energy and money into it, too, and we’re ready to move. (Not to go all English teacher on my readers, but this is what James Joyce focused most of his work: stuckness.) We’re ready to be somewhere else. Aren’t you?
Here’s to a new road map, a new street, a new neighborhood. Here’s to a road that doesn’t involve a turnaround or a dead end. Here’s to the certainty that anything, everything is better than being stuck in the land of if. Here’s to using the word when.
OK, so I’ve been pretty down lately. My acupuncturist says I’m just blue. I hear that. I agree. I cried walking my dog last weekend. And why? I have no idea! Friends have been telling me it’s normal. My dad is telling me my body is readjusting to life post-IVF and medication. I’m telling myself I’m losing hope what with the gaggle of girls in my life recently pregnant. Alas, last night as I sat on the couch transfixed with what I was watching, I screamed with joy when I found out Trudy was pregnant. Yes! Finally!
I’m not sure of my readers’ familiarity with Mad Men’s Trudy Campbell (and her asshole husband Pete), but she’s been wanting to get pregnant for a long, long time. And what with her living in the early 60s, what’s a girl to do after getting married if she can’t have a baby. So Trudy went to the doctor, and so did Pete. It wasn’t him (he came home cheering the fact that his sperm was a-ok!). So that left the struggles to her. Poor gal. Did I mentioned that her husband is an asshole? Anyway, it finally happened. Trudy got her pregnancy and all is right with the world. I can honestly say that this is the first pregnant woman I’m 100% thrilled for. Does this clearly make me insane because this excitement is for a fictional person? Yes. Yes it does. But you’re also reading a blog post from a gal who has plowed through the first four seasons of Mad Men in less than a month. If you know of a Mad Men Anonymous meeting nearby, let me know.
Yours in pointy bras, va-va-voom skirts, and whiskey on the rocks before noon,