Wednesday, August 11, 2004

My own personal Hayley Mills

There's a small but persistent Pollyanna inside me, smiling brightly but forcefully and shaking preposterous blond pigtails in my face whenever I wade too far into the pond. (The pond is filled with brackish self-pity and ennui. I dug it out myself.)

Pollyanna has caused me much grief over the years: I can't remember the last time she let me wallow, hippo-esque, in my melodramatic pain for longer than a few days--she always butts in with how I shouldn't be miserable because, look on the bright side, I'm not underfed or suffering from malaria or being forced to listen to Kenny G. And then I feel really bad, and selfish, and force myself to buck up.

For the last month, I was on vacation (an epic event highlighted by J--J!--cracking 90 MPH down I-80 in Utah; a sight for the ages). For the most part, I was full of bliss at the release of being in a new city every night or two, distracted by new sights, sounds, smells and tastes, which, if nothing else, were novel (even horribly novel, like the roadside restaurants in Eastern Wyoming).

Ah, yes. I should have been more careful. I let Pollyanna run the show: optimism, good cheer, smiling through the minor adversities like 96 degree heat and that salad dressed with Worcestershire sauce on the Olympic Peninsula. And then the optimism ran wild: Cramping at 7 DPO--I must be pregnant! Sore breasts for a full week--I must be pregnant! Nausea on the Alpine Slide--I must be pregnant!

And then, apparently, Pollyanna fell asleep--or perhaps it was a slide-induced coma--because just at the moment when I needed her most, she was nowhere to be found: Out of what seemed to be the blue, I was suddenly bleeding, beset by cramps and gutted. And all I could do was feel the loss, the pain, the emptiness of another failed month; there was no staunch voice telling me to get over it, it's not so bad, find that silver lining.

I have a feeling that she in fact rushed home early and put all of her perky energy into making our tomatoes huge and luscious, as fertile as I am barren.


Blogger Barren Mare said...

You're back! You're baaaaaaaaacck. Happy dance.

And your tomatoes are doing better than mine it would seem. Not that this is any consolation for infertility, right enough.

2:39 PM  

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