i sat on the couch in my pajamas, my hands jammed nervously between my knees, my feet jittering. take it now? take it later. take it now? take it later. eyeing the kitchen i took a deep breath.i felt like i wanted to cry.
i texted my mom, but it was 5:30AM her time and i knew she wouldn't be up. next i texted brandon at work, though he was probably still on the subway heading down, and anyway, this isn't his forte. brandon is wonderfully supportive but wants to know as much about the back end of making a baby as anybody else, which is to say, not much thank you, and please try to keep it romantic. it should be romantic for somebody! (sadly, with fertility pills, it is really romantic for nobody.)
i put down the phone and fought the tears. i felt lonely and anxious. i don't want to do this alone, i thought miserably to myself, though i knew that i had to. that's the point. this is mine. no one else can do this part for me.
with that, i stood up.
i went into the kitchen, and took a butter knife to the little white pill. half for today, half for tomorrow, and three more days after that. i pressed my finger into the dusting of white powder left on the kitchen counter and put it on my tongue. one more deep breath and down the hatch it all went. then, alert for dizzy spells and hot flashes and sneak attacks of nausea, i got huck ready for the day. an hour or so later, feeling shaky but capable, we went out for groceries. dizzy spells and heat flashes be damned.
the weather report for the day said sunny with a high of 72, but when we stepped outside the sun was nowhere to be found. instead the sky was low and gray. clouds swirled around my feet. there were puddles on the ground and droplets of sky clinging to the buildings, drooping heavily from the railings. instantly my hair went rogue. the air all around us seemed dense and quiet. the streets were practically deserted. i could hear my thoughts louder than my footsteps as i pushed the stroller up the hill and over toward 72nd street. the air seemed cold but warm at the same time, and everything moved in slow motion. moving slowly, we made our way uptown, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
around 70th street it fell, trickling at first but soon in heavy, angry sheets. i knew it was coming but still it caught me off guard. it seemed to catch the earth itself by surprise. the rain felt immense. it fell with purpose and consumed every single thing in its path. the hair on my arms stood at attention as the rains fell harder and we raced toward the closest awning we could find for cover, skipping through puddles as big as oceans, while the air flooded around us. three other strollers and four other pedestrians soon crowded in with us, all of us covered in rain and shock, shaking out pointless umbrellas and laughing and watching the sky in awe as it streaked swiftly to the ground. i felt lightheaded, my body completely swimming in hormones, my clothes completely soaked. i calculated the distance to the grocery store and weighed the risk of getting further drenched. i imagined all the awnings we could duck under along the way.
we were crossing the intersection at 71st street when the city suddenly blinked away in a blinding flash of white light. next came the rumble, seemingly from the ground itself. it built in intensity until it was so loud i could feel it exploding through my chest. it was the sound of release. it thought it sounded familiar. it sounded like the whole earth was sobbing.
and then i realized, i didn't feel alone anymore.
