The journey

Two nights ago I had a dream, a very vivid dream that my sister and I were both pregnant and in the hospital, about to go into labor. My sister was a bit closer to labor than I was. She was pregnant with twins and she pissed my mother off by announcing that she hoped both twins would be boys. I didn't know the sex of my baby and thus was incredibly eager to give birth and find out.

It was an exciting dream, a happy dream, and it stuck with me. I woke up with that lingering residue of the emotions of the dream. Even now, a day later, it's still with me. I think it's because I really want to be pregnant. I have to wait, and I will wait, and I think it's best for us to wait, even if I hadn't had surgery.

And I know that there are so many downsides to pregnancy, and parenting, but I, like so many other people, am choosing to dwell on the positive side of things. The excitement, the hope of the pregnancy. What it will be like to announce to my family that I'm pregnant. Picking a name. Decorating the nursery (I'm thinking aqua and yellow). The experience of growing a person inside me, no matter how painful and unpleasant it may be at times. And, of course, giving birth and then having a child, an amazing child.

I try not to think so much about morning sickness, and potential complications, and inconvenient doctor's appointments, and the birth not going the way I'd like, and birth defects, and all the rest. I understand that those things exist, that they're risks, that I will likely experience some of them. I am willing to accept those things in exchange for all the positive things that will come out of the experience. So I choose to think about the positive.

But I have to wait. And so, I will wait. The year anniversary of my surgery coincides with the time we had originally thought about for trying to conceive. We'll have been married for a year and a half. The month of May means that unless the baby is very premature, there is no real risk of a Christmas baby, unless it takes us nearly a year to conceive. The timing, all around, is perfect.

But a year from now feels so far away. And I try to remind myself that it isn't so far, that a year ago doesn't feel so far away, that it's already been a month since my surgery, so only eleven months remain. That time goes by fast. That I love my life as it is right now. That I just had surgery and I need this year to focus on myself, on losing weight, on getting my body into the best possible condition for a healthy pregnancy next year.

I'm a planner, that's for sure, but that doesn't mean that I live with my head in the future. I love to think ahead, to dream and plan and imagine, but I also love what's going on now, and I am fully present to enjoy it. I absolutely believe, as I think most people do, that life is about enjoying the ride, being present on the journey, and not about the destination. Because there isn't a destination, really.

This is what has always confused me about mid-life crises, about people who feel that they can't get married or do X or Y until they've achieved a certain checklist of other things. Not that you can't have a list of things you'd like to do, and a time frame in which to do them. And not that birthdays and aging aren't good reasons to step back and assess your life.

But your life only ends when you die, and most of us have no idea when that will be. There's no stagnating in the meantime. There's no destination at which we're supposed to arrive by a certain age or else we'll miss the boat. There's not an end point that we're supposed to hit by age 50 so that we can spend the rest of our lives idling there.

Everything always moves forward. And I like to think about what will happen as it does. Even if things don't end up working out the way I'd envisioned. I still like to think about what the next stop will be like. Even as I'm enjoying looking out the window along the way.