I have it good. I have a loving, kind, gentle, caring husband who just happens to also be an amazing cook and all around awesome. I have been blessed with not just one fantastic and loving family, but two. My friends are wonderful.
I have it good. I have a good job. I work with some truly magnificent people. Even when my work day isn’t all sunshine and lollipops, they make me smile and feel like a part of something bigger than the walls of the building.
I have it good. I have been to many parts of the continent I call home. I have a comfortable home. I have food in the fridge and the cupboards, and can go out or order in if I want to. My husband and I can treat ourselves to movies and books and games.
I’m part of a fantastic spiritual community. I get to sing, and feel close to my God.
I have it good. I know I have it good.
So why am I finding it so hard to hold it together? Why am I feeling so angry? Why are there tears burning my eyes?
Maybe it’s the hormones. I was on progressively higher doses of hormones for over a month and a half. It’s been three weeks since I popped a pill but my body is still reeling from the roller coaster most women’s bodies have them on every month. For me this is relatively new territory. I’m still not sure if all the tings I’m feeling are “normal”.
The other reason I’m so down is that today I got the call that I’m not pregnant. After a lot of frustrating tries at progressively stronger doses of hormones, and a bit of time for my body to figure out what it was supposed to do even after we found the right dose, we got my body to do what it was made to do. We did everything right. And I felt like it worked. I did. The timing and everything was perfect, and for sure it worked. I took a home test last week (too early to know for sure, but it could have worked) it was negative. I took another one three days later (still kind of early, but what’s the harm?) it was negative. But I still held out hope that the blood test would prove those silly sticks wrong. I had been sure. I had felt like the way my body was feeling had to be the early signs of pregnancy. I was wrong.
I have had a lot of big fat negatives before… To the point where I’m pretty sure those sticks must only have one line on them, and if I got two lines I might think it’s defective. The call from the doctor is really no different from those silly sticks. Not being pregnant is a state of being I am very used to, and I have a good life, full of love and joy!
I know what all these negatives are doing. They’re making the positive mean more.
If it were always sunny and warm, I wouldn’t care as much. But because I have felt the rain, and the snow, and the biting wind. Those warm gentle breezes and the sun on my face are such a welcome treat.
If I hadn’t dated some real jerks, and had my heart broken and spent time alone learning about myself, I would not have been able to fully appreciate my prince charming and the love he freely gives me.
If I didn’t know the pain of these negative pregnancy tests, I wouldn’t know how much I want to be a mom, and the sleepless nights, and dirty diapers, and screaming and crying fights that mothers know so well, may be harder to deal with. But I hope that when I’m covered in baby puke, with a cold cup of coffee on the table, and a screaming child on my hip; I remember the feeling I had with these negatives. Because I want the sleepless nights, I want the tantrums and the tears, I want the messes, and the cuddles, and the milestones, and the memories. The good and the bad. The negatives and the positives.
And if this makes me better suited to be a mother, so be it.
And if I don’t end up being a mother, I know I’ll be the best, most loving aunt.
I have it good.