Our journey is almost finished.
This week marks the culmination of eight months of fertility treatments and procedures — and the myriad hurricane of emotions that have accompanied everything — as my wife and I prepare for implantation day.
On Wednesday, Nicole and I will venture to the fertility clinic once again for the doctor to insert one of our three frozen would-be embryos into her body in hopes of it growing into an actual human.
This day has been a long time coming. We have wept, we have yelled, we have sulked, we have been afraid and hopeful and back again.
At this point, I can’t say for certain whether I truly want a child or not. It has been a moving target for much of this process. There are days I openly weep for want of a child. Still, on others I cringe at the changes to my life a baby would create. On some days, I hold both thoughts in my mind simultaneously, each balancing on either side of me like scales or a perfectly aligned teeter-totter.
I have accepted my existence in this in-between place, accepted the restless tension of contrasting desires and answers and possibilities.
Soon, though, this Schroedinger’s cat-like mental and emotional balancing act will end. The box will be opened, the curtain pulled back, and the answer will be revealed.
Until then, I remain entrenched in the tensions of this in-between place, at moments imagining a world of dimples and diapers and shepherding of a little human whose growth will serve as a daily reminder of the preciousness and limited nature of my own life, and at other times envisioning a life without children but still no less rich in wonder and adventure and purpose.
Here I am, awaiting whichever comes.