Laundromat at Night by Lori NixAnother month, another period. Sigh. And I hate feeling like those women in the movies, so stricken with grief and their own barrenness, they can do nothing but sob and mope around and be utterly devoid of any other possible purpose. But here I am feeling exactly that same way. OK, a little bit busier than those women, it seems, but still. It's humiliating, people!
So, yeah. 28 days later takes on a whole new meaning these days when I find myself peeing on a whole lot of sticks, shyly buying prenatal vitamins at the market, and popping god-knows-what-they-do-to-me hormones month after month. It's hard, ladies and gentlemen, not to feel disappointed and angry and well, just a little bit stupid, after all that fuss. The other impossibly irritating thing is that way too many of my friends, family, doctors, nurses, and co-workers (?!) know all about my trials and tribulations. So like, I gotta break the news to them every time, and it's like I'm letting them down. The good news, is that eventually, they'll have to get sick of asking.
And here is the tricky thing (or so my therapist tells me) about expectations. You need to have, you know, hope for the future. Otherwise our miserable lot in life just wouldn't be worth a damn thing. But it hurts more, to want more. I guess, one is supposed to try and strike a balance. I think this is what they call managing your expectations. Sorta like hoping to not get picked last rather than hoping to be the one they all argue over.
And maybe that is something I have never been good at. I suppose I am the only one who can make it better or make it worse.
But really, who can let go of the wanting? And why would we?
