What is there to say about waiting? Very little it would seem.
Some days I forget that I’m waiting at all. It feels as though this is my life now and always will be. I go to work, I eat, I see friends and family and I sleep. This is my life. I’m 35. I have no children. This is how it will be. There is little to nothing to say about that.
Some days all I can think about is the fact that I am waiting. I long for a child of my own. I can’t walk two steps without being confronted by my infertility. Pregnant women in Target. Ultrasound photos on Facebook. A little girl on a train platform playing “I Spy” tells her mom that she spies ” a mommy” while looking right at me. That little girl can’t imagine that a woman my age wouldn’t be a mommy. I want to tell her she’s right. I am a mommy. I don’t, though. You can’t just go up to a little girl and tell her all about your dead baby. I’m pretty sure that’s the type of thing that jeopardizes adoptions. So, it would appear there’s little to say about that, too.
Most days, if I was honest and sat down to type out my thoughts, all I would type is: baby, baby, baby, please God, send me a baby. Over and over and over again.
I have no idea what kind of wait we are in for. Is the mother of my child even pregnant yet? There is no way to know. Will it happen in a week, a month, a year, maybe more? There is no way to tell.
Will it even happen? There is no guarantee. People say there is with adoption but I know better. There are no guarantees in this life. I can hope for a happy ending but there is no guarantee of one. I hear happy stories but I hear sad and scary ones too. I hear stories that break my heart and make me fear the pain that could be ahead.
Still, we hope. We hope for the happy ending. We hope for peace during the wait. We do so quietly, because most days it feels like there’s very little to be said about that.