This day last year, I was spread eagled on an operating table, enjoying a nice little Valium snack and waiting for the anesthesiologist to get the party started. My husband was cracking me up, talking about how he was gonna take the stirrup contraption home with us and turn it into a comfortable little experience for me, like a Sleep Number bed. His eyes were happy, and all I could think about was that I hoped the babies we were making would have those beautiful blue eyes.
Some days I think back to that morning and that feeling of excitement and I’m jealous of that girl. She was fiery and happy and full of hope and dreams.
A year later, I still can’t believe our IVF cycle failed. The weeks following that negative pregnancy test were filled with tears, frustration and fear of the future. Not to mention the morning of Nov. 4, when I was speeding down the freeway, rushing my husband to the emergency room because he had a stroke, pleading with God that I didn’t care if I ever had children as long as my husband would be OK.
That fucker tried to die on me! Joke’s on him though because God’s on my team and sentenced him to another year of marriage with me. Lucky him.
So here we are, a year later, and it feels like the universe took a big flame thrower to every dream we had. Nothing is what I wanted it to be. We don’t have a baby, we don’t have any money, and now even my stepson has decided I’m not his family. We are exhausted and mad as hell.
However, you can’t keep a tiger in a cage. The world may have knocked me down but it’s gonna need some fucking backup to keep me there. I’m coming up swinging.
Just watch me own 2013.