I don't know what to do with my hands...

When I quit smoking I had no idea what to do with my hands.

I didn't know where to put them.

For years their job was to hold my cigarette.

To elevate that cigarette, ever so purposefully,  to my mouth...pause as I inhaled and then slowly lower it back down to my side.

For years ( and years) my hands had a purpose.

When I was no longer smoking my hands lost their purpose.

I didn't know what to do with them.

I would fidget, I'd pace.

I'd put them  in my pocket.

Take them out of my pocket

Put them back in my pocket.

Clasp my fingers.

Unclasp my fingers.

I would fidget, I'd pace.

I didn't know what to do with my hands.

When you do the same thing every month for over four years straight...you kinda get used to it.

It becomes automatic.

So what happens when it stops?

What happens when it's over?

What do you do with yourself?

This time it's not just my hands that seem to have lost their purpose... It's my whole being.

I don't know what to do with MYSELF.

Yes, I have a lot going on in my life.

I have a full time job.

I'm taking classes two nights a week and  I might even have a new man that I am seeing (wink! wink!).

But I don't know what to do with myself.

I don't know where to put my hands.

They should be popping a pill or giving myself a needle.

And that sentence...that sentence alone shows you how addicting cycling is...

Isn't funny that I am having trouble figuring out what to do.

If I'm not manipulating my body in some way to be a receptacle to pregnancy and life, then I don't know what I am doing?

I don't know how to live without cycling.

I can get up every morning, shower, go to work, go to school, shop, study, take out the trash, clean my condo, put on makeup, go out on dates...engage in everyday activities and feel like I'm not doing anything!

I'm not doing anything!

I've lost my purpose.

I have decided not to cycle anymore.  

I ended it.

It is not fair to any potential embryo. Those poor little babies are given the kiss of death by being placed into my uterus.  I will not be the reason they don't have a chance.

I am done but..

I feel misplaced.

Lost...like I should be doing something.

I have decided to focus completely on my adoption. To see it for the miracle that it truly is and devote my heart to it.

It deserves that! 

That's what I should have been doing this whole time.

Waiting is hard.

Waiting is not proactive.

Waiting makes me feel like...

I should be doing something.

While I am waiting, I don't know what to do with my hands...

I don't know what to do with myself...

Never

nev·er

adv.

1. Not ever; on no occasion; at no time:

2. Not at all; in no way; absolutely not:

Sometimes I find myself just staring off into space with the word NEVER ringing in my head.

It's a cacophony of finality.

And all I can feel, see, hear, think...is that I am the woman that will NEVER have kids. I am no longer this woman full of dreams...this go getter that NEVER gives up...I am now the old spinster that NEVER had kids. The one that people whisper about...I am a pity stare.

Will I EVER be anything else?

I have done everything one can think of, spent every dime I have, and I can't have a baby. That hurts more than any words I could EVER type onto a computer screen.

I will NEVER have a baby.

Never...

I will NEVER have another positive pregnancy test.

Never...

I will NEVER have that perfect ultrasound and hear my baby's heartbeat.

Never...

I will NEVER feel my babies kick inside of me.

It's finality is deafening!

Never...

I will NEVER give birth.

Never...

With each failed cycle, each pregnancy and each loss a piece of me died. A piece that I will NEVER get back.

  

Never...

I will NEVER have a baby.

Never...

I will always carry this loss. It will NEVER go away.

Never...

I will NEVER be okay.

Never...

I just wish it wasn't so fucking final.