the time i give myself

I am looking at hairstyles online when Paul finally gets off the phone.

He's always so happy after talking to Kevin. "How is he?" I ask, and Paul smiles and moves his hand in a curve over his belly.

"Kevin got fat?" I ask, and Paul smiles again and shakes his head.

"Ryanne's pregnant again." His smile is the smile of a proud uncle, of a proud brother. And I put on the smile I wear to match his, the smile of a proud aunt, the smile of a barren woman grieving something never lost.

"That's so great!" My voice sounds canned to me, like a recording.

"Wow," I say, "wow."

I walk into the bedroom, and I sit on the orange rocking chair I got Paul for our anniversary. I look out over the rooftops. Before my empty uterus reached up and smacked me in the face I was thinking about doing my Spanish homework, but it is impossible for homework to exist amidst so much pain.

This is stupid, I think. I am happy, I am happy, I am happy. I repeat the words over and over as tears blur my glasses.

There was a talk in General Conference a couple of years ago and it was all about how the Lord remembers us, how we need to hold on, to have faith that we will be blessed. And he quoted the scripture about Rachel, about how God remembers her and she conceives Joseph. I sit in the orange rocking chair and remember that talk. I want for God to remember me, too.

I want to believe that the Lord is preparing something amazing for me, that this is the reason so much time has passed, that this is the reason I am sitting in the orange rocking chair wiping mascara streaks from my face.

Paul walks in, stands beside me, places his hand on my hair. "Are you sad because Ryanne is pregnant?" He asks this in the voice he uses when he is ready to listen, but I remain silent.

He stands beside me for a long time, not pushing my silence.

I don't have an answer to speak, at least not one that's necessary. Paul has been a witness to my waiting. The cat climbs on my lap, and shoves her cold, tiny nose against mine. Paul rubs my neck, and walks back into the living room to watch T.V.

And I sit, in the orange rocking chair I gave Paul for our anniversary. I make a list in my mind of the work to be done, work meant to be done today that I will push to tomorrow. And I give myself this time. This is the time when I can feel the pain. Tomorrow I will tell myself enough now, and I will wash my mind clean of it.

I move from the chair to bed, where I remove my socks and change into my pajamas. As I look up, I can see Paul in the doorway, watching me.



***I wrote this just to witness what I experience, but I really, REALLY want all of you mothers to know how genuinely happy I am for you when you produce a new life. I am especially thinking of my wonderful sisters-in-law who are expecting. Waiting to be a mother is challenging for me, but I never want any of you to feel any guilt on my account. Nothing is better for me than to see women rejoicing in their motherhood.***