Today's post is going to be raw, emotional, and probably painful for some of you to read. In truth, I started not to publish it. But this has been sitting with me for awhile now, and so I wrote it out in hopes that it would bring me some comfort and closure. I didn't write it to seek out sympathy, or to evoke any particular emotion for my readers. I simply wrote it for me. Any of you who have ever suffered with infertility will understand that sometimes, crying it out and exhausting all emotion is the only way to pick yourself and move on, to give yourself enough courage to take the next pill, the next shot, or the next test. That is what this post is for me.
I'm sitting in the bathroom floor, legs tangled beneath me. The towel I'm crying into smells of Brian's body wash. A nervous cat who managed to get closed into the bathroom with me sits by the door, tail twitching, waiting for a chance to escape. The digital pregnancy test still sits on the counter where I left it, the words "NOT PREGNANT" in stark analog print, breaking my heart again.
It's 4:30 in the morning.
Last night, we sat at the kitchen table, holding hands, the truth of the situation like ashes in my mouth. "I'm 15 days late," I say.
"I know," he replies.
Like a sorrow-filled waltz, we dance around the topic of conversation. He asks me if there are any signs of impending doom. I show him my ovulation calendar. We talk about the "peak fertile days" we managed to hit in the last month. Hope blossoms like spring flowers where one would think the roots were dead.
"Should I take a test?" I ask him.
"Maybe. But let's wait until morning," he replies.
And so we walk through the rest of the day, preparing meals and cleaning dishes, hugging cats and laughing at sitcoms, until the time for bed arrives.
As I brush my teeth, I rummage through the cabinets until I find what I'm looking for: a box of pregnancy tests, one left, waiting for the chance to make our dreams come true. I set it out, unwrap it, and stare at the blank screen, wondering what judgement it will have for me. I spit in the sink, and a spot of toothpaste lands on the digital screen. I wipe it away with my finger.
An hour later, my husband sleeps deeply beside me. I slide the bookmark between the pages of my current novel and turn out the light. My cat snuggles up on my chest, and I pet him while I think about what the morning might bring. So many possibilities.
I try to keep myself from thinking it, but as usual, the laundry list of those possibilities begin to rattle off in my brain. If it's positive, I could have the baby by Christmas. If it's positive, I'll want to schedule an appointment with my doctor as soon as possible. If it's positive, I want to tell my parents first. If it's positive, I'll have the chance to tell Jenna in person this weekend. If it's positive, we'll have to do something about that middle bedroom. (I've always loved the idea of a Dr. Seuss-themed nursery.)
If it's positive, will it be a boy or a girl?
If it's positive, I will cry and laugh and dance and celebrate.
If it's positive.
I fall asleep with visions of round cheeks and tiny feet dancing in my head.
When I wake up with a full bladder at 4 a.m., my whole body comes to attention. I slide out from beneath the covers, leaving husband and cats undisturbed. I take a deep breath and do my duty, waiting the unbearable 2 minutes before allowing myself to read the screen of the pregnancy test.
And the new, more familiar laundry list of possibilities take over. If it's negative, I will not beat myself up for days on end. If it's negative, I will not let it ruin my week. If it's negative, I won't tell anyone about it, because I don't want people to feel sorry for me. If it's negative, and of course it will be negative, I will mark it on my calendar and move on.
If it's negative, I will mention it to Brian over breakfast and we won't talk about it anymore.
If it's negative, I will let myself cry, but only for a few minutes.
If it's negative.
I give myself ten minutes to mourn the baby that never was, and then I wrap the test, that thing, in toilet paper and throw it away. I toss the box and instructions away, too. I wipe down the counters, the sink, and the mirror just for good measure. I splash my face with cold water, blow my nose, and brush my hair. I never look at my reflection because I know I'll only see misery and regret. I turn out the light and open the door, freeing the trapped cat from the confines of his prison cell. I tiptoe back into the bedroom and ever-so-gently lower myself back into bed.
His voice pierces the night.
"Negative?" he asks.
"Negative." I reply.
And we wrap ourselves in each other and cope.
Welcome to Abby Gabs...home of the silly Photoshopped picture. I'm sure this is one of those blogs on your list that you visit looking for a laugh. I'm rarely serious. I never take on political issues or rant about rant-worthy things here on this space. I like to keep things light. Fun. I like to think that this little corner of the internet is somewhere people can come to kick back, relax, and giggle about things that have nothing to do with the front page of your newspaper.
Sure, I have my not-so-funny days. I've shared with you my struggles with infertility, weight loss, and depression. But for the most part, I just tell funny stories about day-to-day life, illustrate them in a way that I think will make you laugh, and hit publish hoping that I've been a bright spot in an otherwise regular day.
There's a part of me that envies the bloggers who tackle the hard stuff--those that share their beliefs and their convictions with such heart that their words strike a chord with whoever reads them. I've always wanted to be one of those bloggers. But I know that it's not my strength. And so, I write what I know. And I like to think that I know humor.
But that doesn't mean I don't have opinions. Passions. Things that I believe in so strongly that I want the world to know where I stand. I do. And I share them on other forums. But this place...this sacred place...I choose to keep it neutral. A safe space for everyone. A safe space for me.
I can't help but wonder if, by choosing to leave my political and religious beliefs out of my daily writings, that I'm somehow muddying the causes I support. That somehow my silence speaks more loudly than the causes I carry closest to my heart. Is it my duty to shout from the rooftops, to argue until I'm blue in the face, to post pictures and videos and diatribes to the point of exhaustion, just to make my point? Or is believing in something, with every fiber of my being, and living my life in support of that belief enough?
All I know is that the internet is beginning to feel like shark-infested waters to me. I never know, whether Monday or Friday, what sort of political debate is going to be shoved down my throat on Facebook. I can never judge if a bold statement made on Twitter is meant to be open for argument, or if it's purely rhetorical in nature. Do I jump in? Do I agree? If I disagree, do I get involved in a discussion that, at its end, should be referred to as an "altercation" instead? Do I have to head into my News Feed everyday, dressed for battle?
It feels like individuals can no longer put their opinions out into the world without opening themselves up to bigotry, hatefulness, or spite. And with everything going on in the world outside, paired with the growing pains of my own little world, some days jumping into the conversation feels absolutely daunting and exhausting to me. I choose to use my "social media filter" instead, panning for the conversations that feel safe, discarding those that feel hostile to save my own sanity.
I'm saving my soul by sacrificing my soap box.
I can't help but wonder...does it make me close-minded that I'm unwilling to debate the concept of basic human rights? That negating free speech is a major deal breaker? That I would rather avoid conversations about religion rather than bicker with someone about my very personal, very private beliefs? That there are some things that are so resolute, so much a part of me, that no argument will ever change my mind?
I'm choosing to believe that the axiom "Be nice to people and they'll be nice to you" is still the right one to live by. And that, just as it is my right to speak out against those seeking to prevent our nation from growing into what I know it can be, it is also my right to speak softly and carry a big stick. It is the sacrifice I make to maintain my voice, and to maintain my well being.
And so, Abby Gabs will continue to be what it is, what it was created to be. I'll still read those other blogs, and I'll still envy those other bloggers. And I will read their words and want to comment. But I will refrain, because confrontation is not my strong suit. I will return home, to my little blog, and settle into the comfort of laughter and the safety of silence, carrying those burning torches where they are safest--nestled next to my heart.
