A blissful Thursday evening during vacation week... so much more I could be doing (laundry, organizing closets, cleaning my attic, etc.), but instead I lay on the sofa bundled with my heating pad.
I'm blessed to have this break.
My husband, who inches ever-so-close to entering the land of hope, tells me to enjoy this time... because our home might soon be crawling with children. I love his optimism, but I can't ever, ever allow myself to join him.
The doctor tells me we have an 80 percent chance of success. I could, however, find two dozen women who were given the same odds and ultimately failed. So I choose to realize that IVF and donor eggs is like everything else in the ART world: a commodity. A profit. A risk worth taking, in their eyes, because they don't have to pay $20,000 for it.
For now, it's tempting to buy into this dream. I will likely never again be as pregnant as I will be in the next few weeks. After that, it's probably back to business as usual: the business of putting one foot in front of another and trying to make it all worthwhile.