So I finally muster up the courage to call about scheduling the lap (even though we haven't officially decided for sure if that is indeed our next step) and I find out they're currently scheduling into May.
I knew it wouldn't be next week or anything, but I'd kind of hoped to hear it wouldn't be more than a month or so away. Sometime after Thomas' 2nd birthday, but certainly long before my 37th.
No such luck. 'What a surprise', she said oozing sarcasm.
So in the interim we'll just continue plodding along blindly, not knowing if the past two years (because it'll be one month shy of two years by then) have been in vain.
After I hung up with the nurse from the good Doctor's office I stood, seething, in the living room wondering how many more roadblocks the universe is planning to toss in front of us during the course of this journey. I mean, we've crawled our way over an ungodly number of barriers already, but my God, how much more can be thrown at us? And how much more are we supposed to take?
All. We. Want. Is. A. Baby.
People have them every day. Sometimes in multiples. I've seen the bellies. I know.
My Beloved, bless his heart and his calming effect on me, suggested that the baby we'll get (because he's still so sure one is coming out way) will be the right one - the one that we're meant to get. And not despite the delays, but because of them. The roadblocks that make me so crazed with rage will ultimately be the reason we'll get the child we will. The right child.
It's a nice theory. In fact I can almost believe it.