tomorrow

the day we've waited for

Photo by eduard on Unsplash

Tomorrow is the day I’ve been waiting for since summer. Tomorrow I will fall asleep while a reproductive endocrinologist inserts a needle into my ovaries to retrieve (hopefully) 19 eggs. Tomorrow our baby who is not yet a baby will enter the world as tiny cells, becoming an embryo and then a frozen life awaiting to be transferred back into my body. He or she will grow lungs, limbs, a heart, tiny ears and—my wish—soft blue eyes like my husband’s. Or so we hope.

It feels important to mark this moment in time—for me, for my family, for the future and all its possibilities. We are desperate for a win after three years. (God, how has it already been three years?) So many times, the grief has threatened ruin and darkness, the kind that entraps every edge of your soul. I’ve been pulled in and spit out and forced to reckon with my body, with my mind, with questions that I never imagined myself asking. We aren’t taught how to make sense of the unsensible. Instead, we …