Chapter 31: 2021

Seven months of the year have flown by, and we have nothing to show for it.

We have nothing to show for it except the several dozen pounds of weight I have gained from all the hormone medication I was on for most of 2020.

Nothing to show except for the new home that we are building that will be ready in the next couple of months.

Nothing to show except that I have started looking at and playing with my nieces and nephews again. I still cannot hold or look at an infant.

Nothing to show except that I have begun to take some time every day to step outside in to the sun or spend the nights out on our deck under the open sky.

Nothing to show except that I am taking on a new role and focusing on my personal journey for the foreseeable future.

In hindsight, there's a lot to show.

But oh how I miss her. I've dreamt so often that it was a girl. And my heart aches for her every moment of every minute.

I have been avoiding the pack up process of our home because this is where we made her, through our sweat and tears. We were blissfully happy for those six weeks, but also so, so genuinely afraid. God, I wish I could feel her just one more time. I wish I knew that the last time would be the last time.

We'd setup the nightly med doses right on the same dining table I've been working from since March of 2020.

I would sit with my box of prescriptions on the floor of my walk-in closet, pick out each bottle, and make sure I had enough to make it through the cycle.

I'd obsessively count and recount the amount of vials I had in the refrigerator. I didn't want to be short, even accidentally. Just in case I got a call from my nurse saying I needed to up my dosage that night.

This kitchen was where he opened the envelope that had the test strips, with all their double lines that had left me struck in awe and in shock. The same ones that had him mutter under his breath before he smiled so wide, I thought he may crack.

This bedroom that has seen so many nights and days of both of us wailing, sobbing, and holding one another to sleep.

The couch that I've spent too many days on, being careful not to move too much or be too much of anything while in each two week wait.

The same clothes that have stretched and molded themselves to me, as my body has stretched and changed over the past two years of our medicated journey.

I've been left so tired, and missing her more than ever with each passing day.

I ache for giggles in the early hours of the morning, and late nights awake soothing her to sleep.

I want to be able to complain about my child to other parents as well.

I want to be able to throw her in the air and catch her squeals.

I want to make her hair with pretty bows and let her choose which shoes to wear.

I want to bake cookies with her in the kitchen and watch her eyes widen in amazement as the cookies come to life in the oven.

I want to witness her father walking her though the streets and in open fields and down the neighborhood and in the backyard.

I want to snuggle in close to her and smell her scent and wrap her in a warm towel after her nightly bath.

I want to feel her head resting against mine as she dozes off to sleep.

I want to see her when I awaken, with her sleepy eyes landing on me.

Oh how I wish it didn't all have to be in my dreams.