Glimpse

When I was pregnant with RE twelve years ago my taste buds were cuckoo and every grapefruit I ate tasted magically delicious. It was a gift I enjoyed for nine months. No sour grapefruits.

Three days before RE was born I waddled around every baby boutique on the Wasatch Front with my mom. We were killing time. I bought some imported nursing cream at Babinski Baby on Foothill Drive. It was my first time to venture as far as Foothill Drive because I wasn't a Ute, I was a Cougar. (Rise and shout.) We discovered a bistro a few doors south of Babinski Baby that sold fruit salad with grapefruit segments in it. Jackpot. Best fruit salad ever and my mom concurred.

Two days before RE was born I was really cranky because my mom spent over an hour perusing the showroom at Drexel Heritage while I perched in an obtuse angle on a pricey chaise. Luckily my mom still had her maternal instincts and decided that we shouldn't shop for furniture any further. She asked me what I wanted. I wanted more of that Foothill Fruit Salad. So we drove all the way back and got more. Forty-eight minutes each way. A long haul for citrus.

Eleven years passed.

This month I took the Foothill Drive exit three times to get to Primary Children's Hospital.  Every time I took the exit and passed Dan's grocery store I saw Babinski Baby. It is still open. The bistro has closed. It is now a Sweet Tooth Fairy. I took RE to Sweet Tooth Fairy and bought cake bites to take to Aunt Stephanie at the hospital. I told her about the magic grapefruit I ate in that exact spot the day before she was born. Foothill Drive still reminds me of having a baby.

Having a baby. Having a baby. Can I please just have a baby? Just kidding, I don't want one anymore. Now I do. Forget it, I'm over it. Okay, I'll take one, even a boy that pees all over. Actually, I'm good.

Welcome to the crossroads I've stood at for a decade: pursuit of additional child via modern medicine to the right, take my one child and call life complete to the left. I've gone down each road so many times and always end up back at the intersection. Stepping into unfamiliar territory isn't awesome. Sculpting my eternal future is a weighty matter.

Every day I battle. I battle the complacency of my current and good life and choose to fight for what I believe I have been promised. It is not convenient. Obstacle jumping is hard.

Every day I battle. I battle the devil on my shoulder that says I'm too old to have a baby. That I'm too weak. That I don't want to start over with an infant carrier that hogs the entire back seat and a stroller that fills my entire trunk. That diaper bags and immunizations and sleepless nights are water far, far, far under the bridge. That it is silly to start anew when I will be an empty-nester in less than seven years. Did I already say the part about being too old? My biological clock is screaming.

Every day I battle. I have to sort the voices in my head, figure out who they come from, and put them in their rightful place be it trash can or pedestal. It is a battle that is bookended with prayer.

It's a lot of battling, but this baby has to be won.

Baby, I am still fighting for you.

The few weeks I was pregnant in May I was overjoyed. Despite legitimate fears (my age, my recent diagnosis of Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, the economy, all of the psychos in the world) I felt at peace. I hoped a baby was right and the glimpse of pregnancy I enjoyed confirmed I was right. The glimpse convinced me that I absolutely, positively still want a baby despite the devil on my shoulder and all of my insecurities. I believe the road ahead is going to be a tough one. I believe it will be made easier with the assurance that I do, in fact, want this no matter the cost.

You wouldn't believe how hard it is to research doctors, secure old medical records, do phone consults and schedule personal consults. To see if we qualify. Then there will be seven weeks of drugs that will most likely make me crazy. DON'T. TOUCH. ME. Daily needles. Harvesting. Planting. Waiting. I can only assume I will be a hot mess. But if I don't try this one last try I cannot live the remainder of my complacent life complacently.

Baby, I still want you, and not just because I want a Pinterest baby board or the Magic Bullet Baby Bullet. I want you because I've had a glimpse of you and that glimpse made it obvious that you belong here. After all I can do, Baby. After all I can do. I still have more to do.