The pieces that do fit.

It’s been a rough month. And the immediate future does not promise to let up on the pressure. I have not battled this thick, smog-like overwhelming sadness in a long while. Not for want of trying times. Oh no, life’s doing its darnedest best to keep me on my tippy toes! It’s just that, all along, somewhere within me the hope has remained alive that soon, one way or the other, things will happen just the way I have always wanted them to and I will get my perfect little baby, snoozing contently in my arms. But now… now I do not feel so sure of anything. What has happened in the past few weeks doesn’t exactly make for a grand tragedy. Yet it has, in one fell swoop, wiped me of that very basic necessity -hope! And now the hard task of recapturing that hope, one moment at a time, looms ahead.

But is this really all that is? Granted, having a child is probably the most important thing in the world for both my husband and me. And yes, I do cringe every time someone tells me how this experience will make me stronger, more resilient blah blah. Why do I have to be God’s favorite work-in-progress, I protest! But I have to admit, there is a lot that is good and pure and warm and blessed that I need to keep reminding myself of. So here’s my attempt at counting the blessings, for there are so many of those -the blissfulness of loving companionship, the unflinching support of loved ones, the luxury of material comfort, the means to afford fertility treatment, the access to great doctors and medical facilities, the asset of a thinking mind, the list just goes on and on…

I have always believed in the jigsaw-puzzle-ness of life. Pieces that click, force fits and empty spaces. The unabated joy of finding just that right bit of sky amongst many that mimic its reality. The sweet satisfaction of completing a complicated puzzle. I used to love jigsaws for how they would reveal a story -softly, gently, one piece at a time.

Why then do I only look at the empty spaces now? Why is my focus only on the gaps that remain, the pieces that are missing? For is it not true that for every piece that chooses not to reveal itself just yet as the perfect fit to the amoebic curves that exist, there is the silent fortitude that the completed portion of the puzzle displays?

Here’s to my story and to the patient, perseverent efforts to make it come to life!



Of recent, everyday feels like waking up as a different person. Almost like someone is directing you, giving you a new part to play each day with a different script. Of course no one but you is privy to the joke! Least of all, your poor husband who wonders what kind of wife he will come home to each day; smiley-chirpy-high-on-life-wife or morbid-glum-spirit-sapping-wife or rabid-bitchy-bite-your-head-off-wife… the poor guy, by this time, has probably given up altogether on regular-normal-supportive-life-partner-wife!!

Largely, though, I have been doing quite well with stray incidents of gloom and despair. Just that when the sucky bouts happen, they still end up feeling very sucky. Every time something brings me down I try and count at least 10 things that I have in my life which I had always wanted and try and calm my angrily pulsating heart. Never works. I know how this makes me sound. Thankless and unappreciative. I believe I am neither of those two things. For every day, through the day, I retain a very conscious awareness of all that I have to be thankful about. But it’s just that when the baby thoughts take over, nothing, simply NOTHING can quell that desperate yearning to feel a rapidly swelling belly, to hold a little part of yourself in your arms, to give birth to life, to watch your love grow each day, every day into someone you will be incredibly proud of.

On a randomly different note, the pottery classes are helping take away some of that prone-to-rapid-escalation negative energy. Something about working with your hands that takes away the stresses of a physical self always stalking the margins of stress.