As I was going through one of my drawers, I came across my mum’s expired passport and a couple of photos of her in better days. She looked so young. The mother I knew when I was growing up. Rings I’m holding on for her. It made me a little sad. A side effect of going through stuff, I’m afraid. And then I found an email I had printed out from my husband about 4 years ago. Life was pretty crappy for me at that point, so I hated to be reminded that things were ever that bad. Yet I’m also glad – keeps me from complaining too much in the present. I see all the stuff I’ve been hanging on to. Bits and pieces of things – like shoe strings, buttons, ticket stubs, play programmes, love notes, we need to talk notes. Wow, I am a pack rat. Or a collector of memories, depends on your point of view. I get so attached to the smallest of things.
I still have a few syringes and paraphernalia left from my cycling days. I held on to this stuff on purpose. Mementos of a life wished for and not attained. I’m not sure why this seems so important because the only thing in life you can count on is that things change.
Infertility manifested itself in our lives and nothing was ever the same. No matter how well balanced I feel, now matter how calm I feel, I always feel vulnerable to reminders of the past. I’d like NOT to considering my dream of being a parent came true.
I subscribe to an email newsletter about family events in the city. I read one item that promoted a group called Birth Lounge that’s all about birth, pregnancy and beyond. Not that there’s anything wrong with that in the slightest. They’re sponsoring a big event and I noticed that one of the sponsors was an acupuncture clinic that I shelled out a substantial amount of money to help me conceive all for naught. For one brief moment, I actually felt excluded. It was a reminder of my infertile past. I watch a pregnant woman on TV getting photography shots of her belly and I feel a slight sadness that I didn’t get to have that experience of carrying my child. There’s no saying that if I had been pregnant that it would turned out all right or that I wouldn’t run into some horrendous medical condition. Something tells me that pregnancy would have left my body a flabby wreck and I’d be moaning about that now for sure. Yet, sometimes I get that old message that says I screwed up somehow, I made a mistake somewhere along the line.
I feel pretty content in my life these days. After about 7 years of crap, life has becomes more sweet than bitter. Yet, still these small things get under my skin a little. I hate that. These bits of papers and things that remind me of the past.
Time to take out the trash.