I never posted pictures of my other embryos and after each cycle failed I would take the black and white glossy film off the hallowed surface of the fridge and throw it away.
I use to refer to them as “embies”. I don’t anymore and when I see someone refer to embies, I know that they have a bit of their soul still clean and shiny and unmarred by the soot of bitterness.
At least I thought so.
But I can’t help but look at that picture and feel some hope. If I didn’t, would I have even bothered going through with it? Of course not.
I go through these tiny spurts of where I feel as if I’m Danny Noonan from Caddyshack and Ty is whispering, “Just be the ball, be the ball, be the ball…” but instead of “ball”, my annoying optimistic self is saying, “Just be the pregnant lady, be the pregnant lady, be the pregnant lady…”
The best my pessimistic self can do is replace “lady” with “bitch”, just so I don’t start the well known crazy daydreaming antics of farting butterflies while being followed through a field of wildflowers by a heard of bunnies sniffing wondrously at my ass.
I also talk myself out of feeling good about this by remembering we did use Mr. DD’s sperm. His highly fragmented sperm. Plus I was in prep for this cycle for what I think is an inordinate amount of time. We all know what happens to a nice flaky pastry that’s been sitting in the window display case well past it’s prime, don’t we?
I refuse to discuss the “what ifs” with Mr. DD for fear of jinxing it even though I would love nothing more than to cuddle up to him at night and make jokes about how old we’ll be when the baby goes to Kindergarten; or how XBoy will act; or how our families will be so surprised.
These are simple little thoughts that go well beyond picking out baby names and nursery furniture. Those are necessities and material items that don’t even cross my mind. It’s the dreams and potential that are the hardest to not just let in, but to let go of. And yet somehow, the intangible has been caught, and presented to me on a bit of paper that fits nicely into my pocketbook to pull out and stare and dare I say, dream of?