When you think about it, we are all waiting for something at any given point of our lives. I am waiting on multiple things: on myself to be ready to try again with Dr. Uterus, on my mom’s visit this week, to hear from the Golden Retriever rescue organization to see if I passed the phone interview on Friday so that we can graduate to the home visit. Inevitably, though, once the thing that I am waiting for actually comes around, there is always a bit of a let down, as if the anticipation of the thing was far more interesting than the thing itself.
I’ve come to realize that waiting and anticipating are rather shallow activities. They are passive, like letting life wash over you rather than getting out the door and doing something. There is the temptation to view filling up the time with activities as distraction. I think in fact, that it should be classified as living, not distracting yourself while waiting.
To be sure, there are times when waiting is actually very therapeutic to me. If I get to an appointment early, and can sit there and read trashy magazines, it is almost as calming to me as having a purring cat on my lap. There is something about knowing I can sit there and do nothing without the need to justify that I am doing nothing that makes me super relaxed.
Most of the time, though, waiting is self-defeating for me. I feel as if I have wasted the time waiting and anticipating when I could have been out doing things. On the other hand, I feel that if I had just gone on doing the whole living thing, I would be giving the message that I wasn’t that interested in what I was waiting for (never mind that I don’t know who would be getting this message).
With infertility, I feel as if I have been waiting for my life to begin – with the birth of a child. I’m only now beginning to realize what many of you are probably yelling at the screen: my life has been going on the whole time and frankly, it’s been passing me by as I waited and waited and waited. I have read many blogs about waiting during infertility, this notion that your life is in a holding pattern until this one variable can be worked out. I’ve done that for three years and I don’t feel as if I have much to show for it.
So, for me, what does it mean to start living again? Well, it means making plans without first thinking about whether or not I will be pregnant. It means doing things that I want to do because I don’t know when I will have the opportunity in the future. It means getting the dog now rather than after we have kids as Sweetie wants because I want one now. It means just living my life without looking at the calendar.
Like many things, talking (or blogging in this case) is a lot easier than doing. But, I’ve now put it out there. You lovely ladies (and gents) will hold me to it. You will call me out for twiddling my thumbs or throwing pencils in the ceiling. You will remind me to get off my duff and do something.
So, go, Mrs.X! Get moving!