It’s finally here, Tix to see Listen To Your Mother NYC on
You can CLICK RIGHT HERE to purchase yours.
(if you’d like to come to see me and my fellow writers read our works about Motherhood I urge you to buy tickets quickly as we are certain that the program will sell out soon.)
I’d be honored, humbled and happy to see you there!
Listen to Your Mother is also donating 10% of every tix purchased to Room to Grow
(a local charity that serves mothers babies and young children)
See You There!!!!
There came a time in 2007 when I had swallowed enough Clomid to explain away my awful mood swings, had endured enough timed and uninspired sex to make a hooker blush and visited enough doctors to have my own degree in the sensitive art of procreation.
Smiles were forced, desperation was abundant and joy was moored. If I had been a boat, I would have been just floating in the shipyard, rocking back and forth with no chance of leaving my slip.
I was in desperate need of a silver lining, something that would prove to me that the last 4 years of my life had been worth something.
It came in the form of prefilled syringes, alcohol swabs and daily internal ultrasounds. Little by little, picture by blurry fuzzy picture of blobs attached to my ovaries moved the clouds aside to reveal small bits of blue sky.
It was enough to push me to heat progesterone oil in the middle of a balmy May and wince only slightly as John glided needles into the fleshy part of my tush, it was enough to steady me as they readied me for the surgery that would harvest the blobs from my stimulated and baseball sized ovaries and it was even enough to carry me through the next 5 days as the phone calls came in one by one to update us on the state of the embryos we had finally managed to make after 4 long years.
My feet in stirrups on Memorial Day 2007, they glided two blastocysts into the warmth of my womb.
With crossed fingers and not much else we waited.
I guessed I must have prayed over the next week and a half. Knowing me I probably fell to my knees and begged for the answers I so desperately wanted but looking back I hardly remember any of it.
What I do remember?
The body bending cramps, the anxiety, the complete refusal to take a pregnancy test choosing instead to wait for the blood test at the office.
As always, I pushed myself to the end point of procrastination and refused to pick my head up to gaze at any light at the end of the tunnel until I was sure it wasn’t a farce or a tease.
Today, there is an icon that sits in the upper right corner of our computer’s home screen. It doesn’t stand out or make its presence known, but it sits there and waits for the days that I need to click it, to hear the saved voicemail from the nurse at our fertility clinic the day of my blood draw.
“There it is…” I often whisper to myself as I listen to her animated urging for us to return her call “…that was the first time I felt the slender promise of motherhood surface and was able to grasp,with my own hands and my own heart,the HOPE that would become Giovanni & Jacob.”