Time is a funny thing. In the weeks when I am waiting for a period or a positive pregnancy test, the days, minutes, even seconds, seem to crawl by "as slow as molasses in the winter" as a friend used to say. On the other hand, I can't believe it's already been seven months of trying to get pregnant. I feel like I just got used to the idea, after decades of trying my damndest to not get pregnant, that my husband and I are actually trying to have a baby on purpose. So it feels entirely surreal that this week I had to call my doctor to make a fertility evaluation appointment.
Because I'm an "older" [insert clenched jaw and eyeroll here] patient, I'm told that it could take years to get pregnant. But for the same reason, we're also advised to waste no time making this fertility evaluation appointment. Just typing those words - "fertility evaluation" - feels like a mistake or like I'm writing about someone else. I hesitate before striking the letter 'f' each time. Even writing this blog, where I am narrating my fertility "journey," forces me to reckon with the uncomfortable truth that there is a journey in the first place. No quick trips to the parent 'hood here. So no matter how hard I try to rationalize with myself and appeal to my own common sense, the making of this appointment (which I've also seen cruelly referred to as an infertility evaluation) seems like the scariest thing in the world. Ignorance is indeed a blissful place to live; by making this appointment, I feel like I'm evicting myself from that cozy place into a residence unknown. Maybe we'll get easy answers and solutions. Or maybe we'll find out all our parts are in working order and just need a little more time. But maybe we find out that we need a lot of (read: expensive, cost-prohibitive) help...or maybe [GULP] this is the first step in a long journey toward finding out that our parenthood plans are actually a pipe dream.
I have known that I wanted to have children since I could walk. Even as early as six, seven, eight years old, I had babies in my arms and was entertaining younger kids. My nephew, born when I was 11 years old, was practically another appendage - by my choice. I was a natural nurturer.
I spent my teens and early 20s babysitting and working in a baby store. By my mid-20s, I was already beginning to feel this deep longing to become a mother. When my close circle of friends began having babies of their own in our late 20s and early 30s, that longing only intensified. I watched as they became pregnant one by one, and I began to have the sinking feeling that motherhood was some kind of exclusive club to which I had not been invited. Even though I knew I hadn't yet met the right partner, I still felt jealous and left out of the experience of motherhood. When they complained of not being able to really enjoy a few adult beverages or party like they used to, I secretly wished to trade places with them.
Of course, I was still thrilled for each of them and became as involved in their children's lives as I could, gratefully stepping into the role of "Aunt Coco" and "Auntie Courtney." When I began teaching, I became "Mama Carbaugh" to many of my high school students too. I have cherished all of these roles, but in many ways, they have all felt like they were just substitutes for the role I really wanted: mom. I had even begun to plan for the possibility of parenting on my own...that is, of course, until I made the kismetic decision to become roommates with this other English teacher, Chris, who I was friendly with at school.
When I fell in love with my husband, all of that baby fever solidified finally into a real vision for our future. For his part, Chris is a natural dad-in-waiting. You can see it in his family's old home videos when he helps his toddler brother up from the ground and gently kisses his forehead. You can see it when he's coaching on the soccer field, being carried off in celebration by his former players. You can see it when he's working with his ELL students, gently guiding them through the writing process in a language brand new to them. You can even hear it in his dad jokes, just waiting for their audience. Truly, there isn't another person on this planet with whom I would rather parent, and I am so grateful now that I waited all these years to become a mom so that we could start our family together.
I will try to keep those last thoughts in mind as I prepare myself for this week's appointment, especially in those moments when I will surely lie awake at night considering all of the worst case destinations for this journey we are officially beginning, surreal or not. For now though, I will enjoy one last night in the comfortable, blissful home of ignorance, sipping a glass of good red wine, and practice curving my lips around the word "fertility," attempting to become as familiar with it as I am with my other favorite f-word.
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