Yesterday, it was C's turn to take Tricky in to homecare while I walked the Naughty Nephews over to their school. When I met C in the laneway outside the carer's house he was wiping the tears from under his sunglasses.
We scurried away together, feeling awful; he looked at me with a pleading look, C said in a trembling voice. I knew what he meant. It was the third week of pleading looks and accusing stares and screaming tomato and while the first week was ok, the second week (while C was away) had been, well, trying.
He stops pretty quickly, I assured him. If we'd waited at the gate we would have heard.
We got in the car, both feeling odd, as if we were fourteen again and truanting school or something.
We were scurrying because we were going to see a play at the Opera House, a play that started at 10 am. It was about two kids and a baby whose mother leaves them in their car at a supermarket carpark. At the end of the play I turned to the director who had invited us and grabbed her hand. That was amazing I said. At least that was what I meant to say. Instead I said That was ammmaaaahooooaa and bawled my eyes out. She hugged me. I think she thought that was quite a good review. Even for me, it was fairly impressive weeping.
Later C and I continued the wierd truanting feeling by having lunch together at a cafe where prams would be difficult and baked beans and banana bread were absent from the menu. It was an odd sensation, liberating yet missing something. He'll be having his hot lunch now, we said to each other over the chilli linguini. And later...I bet he's having his nap now.
At home I dug through the papers that had lain untouched for the past 28 days. I rang the phone number and a friendly voice chimed at the other end... House Of Groovy Love (not the clinic's actual name) Rainbow speaking (not the fertility sister's actual name), how can I help you?
Hi I said. It's day 2 and I want to activate my Frozen Embryo Cycle.
Okay, she said happily. Then you'll be coming in next tuesday for your blood test and ultra sound. I felt slightly dizzy writing these words into my diary.
What day will the transfer happen, I said...just, you know, if All Goes Well and it actually does happen.
Ah, she said. Probably on the following Friday.
I wrote this in too. The wierd feelings continued.
That play today, I said to C as I sipped at my decaf. I had a pretty strong reaction to it. I mean I thought it was good but, you know, it's been a long time since I did that in a theatre.
It's because we're parents, he said.
Friday. April 18th.
If All Goes Well.
When the nightmares were the best bits
6 days ago