The snow is slowly releasing its death grip on spring and little patches of perfectly green moss are starting to reappear under the trees. In the same way our waiting is slowly and hesitantly nearing the end. I’m finding it harder and harder to get excited about trying to get pregnant. I am beyond excited to be pregnant, but the road there is a hell and a half. It’s the Coquihalla in January during a blizzard with zero vision and summer tires. How many times do you put your heart on the line and get shot before you start wearing a bullet proof vest? Maybe this is starting to change me, maybe the sadness in my eyes will become a permanent feature? I will get in that car and drive, semi-automatically, without hesitation but without butterflies. Until I get those two red lines, the coveted two perfect lines that mean at last this chapter is coming to an end and I can finally shed my war armour.
I filled my prescription of clomid a couple of days ago, I walked up to the counter and handed the girl my crumbled piece of paper, averted my eyes because I didn’t want her to see them once she realized what I was getting. I felt embarrassed. I felt like she looked at me and knew everything. Have you taken these before? Do you know the side effects? Oh yes I can see here you’ve been on clomid many times. You know the drill then. I walked off with my eyes down, fidgeting with something in my hand that wasn’t there, look up to realize I’m walking down the baby isle. Diapers and soothers and formula and millions of pictures of moms and happy baby faces. Yes, I know the drill.
