Possibility

We saw her for the first time on a rainy day two weekends back. Having just completed a conversation in which we mourned our reproductive failures and recommitted ourselves to the cause, J~ and I looked out the window and there she was, white as snow, big as a cat, and snacking happily on our sodden lawn. J~ smiled at me. "A fertility sign," he said, but I was already smiling and thinking the same thing.

And then we went to bed.

When we got up after an hour or so, the rabbit was still in the yard. We declared it female, and dubbed her Henrietta.

She came back a few days later. Thrilled, I ran for my camera.

Later, a neighbor stopped by. Our fertility symbol, she informed me, is her escaped pet. Female, yes, not Henrietta but Megan, and—get this—pregnant. For rabbits, gestation takes only twenty-eight days. There will be babies very soon.

It made me very optimistic to hear all this.

So much so that I did two pregnancy tests this month, holding my breath for the good news. Where a second blue line should have appeared, no matter how intently I stared, no matter how good the light, there was nothing but the snowiest Henrietta/Megan-white.

And then I got my period.

By the way, the experimental (ivy league, no less) graduate program I applied to admits one student, just one, each year. I got my letter on Monday: I am not the one. But I am one of four on an unranked list of alternates, in case that one lucky candidate declines. I'll know in a month.

I'm happy to be waitlisted, especially since I've been on the fence about school. (Lately, all I want to do is work, clean my house, plant my garden, brew herbal teas, write in my journal, and take long walks with friends. Hell, I'm actually looking forward to doing my taxes!) Besides, I can handle waiting. I know all about limbo. I can appreciate a "maybe next month." I know that drill.

It is so much preferable to an unequivocal No. Not ever. Never gonna happen.

The waiting list is a blessing. Menstruation is a blessing. Neither will last for ever.

Today I embrace the gift of possibility.

Sighting

J~ and I took a stroll down our dead-end road the other day, and saw both of our infamous bunnies, Francis and Henrietta, side by side on a neighbor's lawn. A good sign? Who knows. But interesting, since J~ and I are turning to the old Babies or Not question once again, with renewed focus. We're simply not ready to let it go.

Mother's Day Again

In the front yard the other day - she's back, daintily nibbling violets and dandelions. (If you were reading this blog last spring, you might remember this visitor, nicknamed Henrietta, and the symbolism I ascribed to her then.)

In the neighborhood, a barred owl – tan and white with great yellow eyes, big as a (fat) cat (we call it Hootie) – implores each evening and morning: Who cooks for you? Who cooks for yoooou? I got a good long look at him (her?) perched on a log not eight feet away, but no camera on me at the time, alas.

Biking 90-ish miles on the weekends lately, and a little more during the week. Loving it.

All dressed and ready to meet riding companions yesterday morning, I burst into tears when it hit me: it's Mother's Day.

This is still so new, this letting go of the pursuit of motherhood. I'm not sure that I have let go completely. Not yet anyway. But I'm headed in that direction. I'm thirty-nine now, after all, and though I'm not preventing, I'm no longer trying to conceive, nor am I pursuing answers anymore, or super-charge health cures, in regard to my many miscarriages. Another Mother's Day passing.

So I cried for a minute, then kissed my very sweet and supportive husband, strapped on my helmet, and rode off into the bright windy morning.

I Admit It

Sometimes I feel extremely foolish having any hope at all, after so many failures. But here it is, I admit it: I have my hopes up this month.

I could potentially test tomorrow...

Why am I hopeful? No good reason, actually. I haven't had any telltale symptoms. My breasts are sore, but that's typical of this time of the month. We did put in a good effort this time around, however. And it is spring. Birds and bees and flowers and all. Plus, Megan/Henrietta was in the yard yesterday afternoon, neatly nibbling wild violets, leaves and flowers both. She also ate a big yellow dandelion. Now that has to count for something.