My life is not wretched. I keep reminding myself of that. Though I have had some moments when I really felt it.
March kicked off with the greatest scene ever. A little tiny heartbeat fluttering on the screen. And then March came to a crashing halt last week when that screen showed nothing. Nothing but what wasn't to be.
My life is wretched. I've never been foolish enough to think that life is fair, but I was foolish enough to think that I'd paid enough dues recently. And that I was off the hook for awhile.
But I look at Jason, and we talk about all the hopefulness of a bright future. Of really great things that are happening for him and for us, and my life is not wretched.
And in quiet moments, when the anxiousness and impatience that come from that strong, deep burn, and from that unshakable longing to be a mother, I feel both. My life is wretched. And yet it is not. That day will come. I know it. There is not one single doubt. For that, I am grateful.
Optimism woven with sadness. Yes, an unusual marriage, but not an uncommon one.
Because when you add it all up, no, my life is not wretched. My life is joy.