First of all, it’s Earth Day. Not weird. Awesome, in fact. My favorite holiday. I’ve written about it from a technology perspective, as well as from corporate “green team” and volunteer perspectives, Today I will plant bachelor’s buttons and sunflower seeds in the garden, something we’ll not get to enjoy but the new owners, whoever they may be, should love when the summer really gets going. I’ve given up on the no-gardening rule and continue to plant and nurture this 50×100′ plot we call home, and am grateful for the sun that hits my shoulders as I walk around and see our bees grabbing pollen from the California Lilac and the ducks eagerly eating the leftover kale my husband has brought home from work. For this simplicity on Earth Day, I am grateful.
Second of all, April 22nd is also the day I married my first husband, 18 years ago. Seems like a lifetime since that day in Seattle I chose to take vows with my high school sweetheart who, 5 years later as we lived in Santa Barbara, would be so far down the rabbithole of alcoholism and lies that I would end this legal tie and, seven months later, take my beloved Rottie and move back here to my hometown, living in my uncle’s tiny attic until I bought this home the following Spring. I write this and think about the previous paragraph and see where that has led me. And while my first marriage now seems like a distant memory, a collection of snapshots from a life lived up and down the West Coast, all is forgiven and even with all the pain, the fact that my life experiences led me to this blog, this blog that introduced me to the love of my life? That is pure gratitude.
But I must say, the third mention of April 22nd is something entirely different. You see, today I don’t think of those two things like I think of this third one. Today I think of the fact that it has been one year since our 8th & 9th embryos died inside of me, the black hole that my uterus turned out to be. I think of how during one week in April my body failed me, Ethiopia closed their doors after 2 years in the program, and how, while I was still in the depths of physical therapy, I had no idea that I still had an emergency retina reattachment surgery coming up 2 months from that date, or that a year later, I’d be only minimally further along with my back recovery, still unable to do things like go to a movie or see a concert without excruciating pain (nothing like giving up your Erykah Badu tickets because you’re about to pass out from the pain) because, along with the inflammation, your body has gone into full blown perimenopause. I had no idea a year ago that the six rounds of DEIVF were a pure waste of time, energy and money because I had no idea that this had already started. Hell, my doctors never mentioned it to me – I didn’t even know the TERM as I’d just assumed in my late 40’s or early 50’s I’d have some hot flashes and that’d be it. I had friends who had no problem getting pregnant at 40 and others who adopted quickly, and yet, here we were on April 22, 2017, and our house is quiet. Ten months into our last chance – domestic adoption – and we have not been chosen and, with that, have elected to proceed with our lives, with the “icing on the cake” of a child being just that. Our life cannot stay on hold, and we know that if and when we are chosen, it will be the right time. So we take each step towards our next chapter, while still remembering that this child could be joining us in a day, a month, we’re not sure. Yesterday I was given six beautiful swaddling blankets and a mass of cloth diapers from a neighbor, making our registry even more simple, the registry we created 2 years ago when a little one was just beginning to grow inside of me, and my husband and I looked at everything with curiosity. Seemed like hoarding as the discussion of it is rare anymore – only once a month when we get the “headcount” list of all of the birth mothers who have looked at our profile book (but did not choose us) from the agency. Is this all real? I don’t know.
Only time will tell.
And that, my friends, is life in a nutshell.