A few days ago, I woke up and started getting ready for work. While I was brushing my teeth and simultaneously putting lotion on my face, I bobbed my head to the tune of the song from Groundhog Day.
I got you babe.
I didn’t even realize I was doing it at first. When my brain finally put two and two together, it made sense – because our lives have become much like Groundhog Day. We move forward, but we only move forward so much. Then, we begin the next day right where we started the day before . . . with no clear answers or insight into what lies ahead.
This should feel ordinary now. We’ve lived our lives this way for as long as I can remember. This is how things played out when we were in the throes of infertility treatments. The constant uncertainty. The fuzzy future. It’s how our world spun round when we were waiting to adopt. Waiting for that phone to ring. Waiting to learn our fate. This waiting place, this pause button, is not a stranger to us.
And yet, this time, it feels different. Before, I wanted a very distinct answer. I needed a specific outcome. I needed to become a mother, and I would have put myself through that misery of waiting until the end of time if it meant that the universe would give me a chance to take on that role.
Now? I just want the waiting to end.
There’s no particular outcome that I need to see. There isn’t a need for anything except closure. I need to know so that we can move forward and stop revolving our actions around this one situation. I need to know one way or another how this is all going to pan out, sooner or later.
I need peace, and I have no idea when that peace may come.
Until then, I keep thinking of Groundhog Day and that song. In a way, it’s ironic – that song – because no matter what happens when the universe hits the “play” button once again, I have her. And that’s all I need.
Then put your little hand in mine
There ain’t no hill or mountain
We can’t climb