The nice things about rainy days, is that they give you an excuse for smudged mascara.

The tears started on Saturday evening and continued up until a little while ago. They may return, but I need to rehydrate first. Last night, after fighting with my dear husband all day, he came into the bathroom where I was hunched over in bathwater lukewarm and half filled with tears. He decided to be the bigger person and told me how hard it is to see me suffer, wanting to pick me up and hold me as I cry, but was just so angry for attacking him with words all day. He was right. I was entirely out of line. I was ruthless. I said many things I never should have. Things that I want to erase. I was upset to say the least, but he is with me, not against me. He was the bigger person and for that I am grateful. I can not get through this without him.

The call came in at 1:34. It was just 34 minutes into my afternoon presentation. My phone buzzed. I glanced down and saw the call was from UNKNOWN and I knew. I took a deep breath and continued. It buzzed again to let me know I had a new VM. I apologized to the audience and used humor to bring them back. They did not know it was graveyard humor, that was my secret.

I didn’t need to answer the call. I didn’t need to call back the clinic. I already knew. I stopped my PIO shots earlier this weekend and drank alcohol at a friends house at dinner last night. There are just some things you know about your body and I know that I will never give birth to a biological child. My body is fighting it. I tried to fight back. It won.

After I left work, I called the clinic. They were empathetic and caring. The nurse was surprised that I was so matter of fact and she kept telling me it was OK to cry. I had to reassure her that I had been and will. but now I need information. She obviously must not have talked to our clinics embryologist, who approached me while my blood was being draw and asked how I was holding up. Poor guy, he sits in the lab all day and had a patient crying in the hallway…not exactly his domain. He was caring and sincere and helped me more than he may know. I guess when you are normally a bubbly and happy person turn beaten down and sad it is noticeable. I am sure that person will come back before my appointment with the doctor on the 17th (of freakin September that is).

After I got off the phone with the nurse and started on my way home I decided to do something absolutely crazy. I stopped at the natural baby boutique. I had been there once before and was driven crazy by new parents picking out cloth diapers and rationalizing with their newborns. Asking the baby why they are crying is stupid. You don’t have many options and a little common sense tells you the difference between hunger, diaper change, sick, tired. They cannot talk so why would they answer??? Stop asking and start doing something so we do not have to listen them. Needless to say, my last visit left me agitated. So why would I go there, especially at a moment like this?

I needed to conquer those new parents and pregnant people. I was not going to hide and bash them inside. I parked outside the store and sat in the car for a few minutes before I got the courage to go in. As soon as I touched the door handle, I heard it. Babies crying, excited parents, annoying & fretting pregnant people. I heard it. I accepted it. I swallowed. I found my internal strength. The past 4 years have beaten me to the ground. I have been surrounded with people living my dream. I have been excited, crushed, hopeful and devastated. Standing in the doorway I felt all those emotions rush back at once. I fought back the tears and they obeyed. My mind came to peace with what my body will not perform.

The organic cotton baby clothes called me until a pregnant mom approached and held up outfits to her belly. I sought refuge in the children’s books and picked one up titled Mama & Papa and read it as I batted my eyes and refused to cry. “You cry it, you buy it” I told myself and chuckled at how clever I can be, even in moments of extreme distress. When I got it together I tried to approach the cloth diapers, but it was full of THEM, so I looked at the wooden flapper toys. Nothing very special. Nothing worth the 50 buck price tag. So I started to leave. At least I looked at baby stuff without crying I told myself. I was proud. As I made my way toward the door I noticed the CD’s. One in particular caught my attention because of the replicated African fabric on the cover. African Dreams: Lullabies and Cradle Songs from the Motherland was the title. I picked it up and hugged it. There was something for me at the baby store after all. I flipped it over and noticed that #13 is a traditional african lullaby titled “”, which I believe (don’t quote me) translates into “my child”.

I went into the store with a purpose, even though I did not know it. I am ready to move on. I have losses to mourn. I will never forget the pain I have suffered these past 4 years, but if I am going to be a mom to a beautiful adopted baby from Ethiopia I need to manage my pain and make room for love.