Babies are like cats. Introduce familiar smells, sounds, and tastes from home. Blankets, cheerios, meatloaf, milk, berries, shapes, puppy love, doggies, sleep sheep, purple unicorn, fresh ground coffee and my french press.
Hello glamorous Mendocino light, lillies, sea breeze, and cypress trees.
Breakfast at Mac callum House, feeling surreal, a memory appears:
Alan and I down by the bluff smoking a J. Just left Dicks, too many Scrimshaw too early in the day. Crying, laughing, cheeks rosy from the sunshine and beer. Cheek twitching from my internal fear.
What are we gonna do now?
Only three embryos left in Cryofreeze.
Can’t bear another egg retrieval, another surrogate search, don’t even know if I can go through the whole gut wrenching process, the two week wait, another disappointment.
Wondering if Alan would rather just trade me in for a younger lady with fresh eggs and less craziness. Will he accept a childfree life?
The four of us sit here in this historic wooden house, food thrown all over the floor, Jack and Fiona growing restless, I think Alans finally starting to learn how to power eat and keep Fiona from tossing her whole plate of food on the floor.
We are totally different people living totally different lives. From the romantic couple with time to ruminate or throw caution to the wind to a life that moves at a different pace. One that is both chaotic and unpredictable, scheduled and rhythmic.