A little bit of hope

Every month, I get to this point, when I am about one week away from getting my period, and I always experience that little flutter of hope. Well, it's been nine months of the wrong kind of flutter. I should be experiencing baby flutters, and instead I just gulp down great big mouthfuls of hope and my attitude is great for about the next five days, until I realize it's going to be just another month. Then the tears come, because everything gets to me. And after the great big sobfest, there it is. That little speck of hope starts growing again, because I know it's a fresh start and we can try again.

I wish that there was a different way to know, that you didn't have to wait two weeks. I mean, really, why wait two weeks? What was the point of that? Why couldn't you just know whether it took or it didn't as soon as you were done ovulating? Like a mole that gets darker, or your belly button has a red dot that appears? Something tangible, yet hidden.

They say women are stronger than men, and I think it's things like these that make us so. Every month, we have to live through the psychology of it, whether we are trying to get pregnant or not. Men couldn't handle that, and some days I am beginning to wonder if I can either. I wonder if I will have to live through the rest of my 30s and into my 40s constantly watching, waiting, and hoping.