Inside/Outside; or, Let It Snow

We returned home last night from our ad hoc Jersey shore Christmas with my family, beating the worst of the storm by a few hours. Now we have two days until we leave for our Bahamas New Year's trip and lots to fit into that time (brief writing for Lawyer Guy and grading and lots of errands for me).

I'm glad that these weeks have been so packed. I haven't had much time to worry over the unlikelihood of this month's natural cycle yielding anything or begin stressing about the final Clomid IUI. I've had too much to do with holiday parties, cookie baking, presents buying and wrapping, and travel planning. On our drive back to Brooklyn yesterday, Lawyer Guy actually solicited information from me on how I'm feeling about our chances this cycle. "You haven't talked about babies and pregnancy much in the past few days," he noted, "which is unlike you."

(And, for the record, I am 10 dpo and don't have any strong symptoms either way. As usual.)

If I wasn't talking about babies, it's because I was trying to (and mostly succeeding at) not think about babies. When we're with my family, that's always easier to do. None of my sisters are married or have children yet or think much about children or talk much about children. And while I know my parents would love grandkids, they don't put any pressure on us or talk about it, either.

It was a strange Christmas, nonetheless. Our first since my parents sold the house we all grew up in. It felt very on-the-fly and we missed many of our traditions. While that was hard, it was also helpful, I suppose, because the Christmases I imagined with baby--when we thought about being pregnant or found out I was--were not Christmases spent at my best friend's family's home on the Jersey Shore. So as a consequence, I didn't think at all about "what might have been," though I couldn't stop myself from imagining what might be in the future (these days, it's twin boys named Simon and George).

And similarly, as we approach New Year's I'm trying equally to avoid thoughts like "This will be our year" and "Last year was such a disappointment." As I've written before, I have faith deep in my heart that one day something will work and LG and I will have a biological child. And as I've also written before, I have no confidence that it will happen soon or easily or without much medical intervention. I'm trying to tune out the distractions and fears and external signs of time passing and dwell inside and live with this little bundle of hope and pain I've been carrying around.

The snow has stopped falling and the sun is bright, but the wind is still howling. It's cozy and comfy inside the apartment. I'm going to stay here as long as I can today, but I know that eventually I'll have to leave and brave the chill again. I guess that's what makes the lazy, warm mornings spent inside even nicer.