famous

We were hanging with celebrities on Saturday. Not that I mean to brag, but how can you not?

Being honest here - I thought Carter would be (typically) scared. But me? I was dying to meet Brobee, so we were taking the chance. Toys R Us was packed. There was face painting, balloon animals, Geoffrey the Giraffe and other free stuff ... each of which had its own line of waiting parents and their kids wrapping around aisles.

Have you ever attempted standing in line with a toddler? How about in the middle of a toy store? Toddlers don't believe in lines. Matt & I took turns standing in line while the other one played in the aisles with Carter. When I finally reached the front, I called Matt's phone, and we wrestled him back into the line. I anticipated the worst; we're scared of so many things (this, this and this).

But his body tightened up, and his face grew a huge smile. We even managed some high fives.

I guess when you recognize a huge, furry, green monster from TV, he doesn't qualify as scary like Easter bunnies, oceans and a jolly man with a fluffy, white beard.

phone call

Today my ultrasound happened upon one tiny follicle. It was so tiny, in fact, that the doctor avoided talking about it. It's possible he was saving face from his embarrassing three follicle miscalculation the other day. But it's even more possible that its size was too small to ever amount to any significance. It's the estrogen that matters, he said. He'd call me later with the estrogen results.

I go home to a regular day. I rummage cabinets for Carter's picky eating habits. I'm pricked with IVF shots. I search under couches and in bags for a missing Toby the Tram. I assemble cups and pour milks. I finally get the phone call with major medical news about my family's future. I read Carter a book and bargain him into a nap. I tote him to humid playgrounds. Change sogging diapers. Wipe toddler tears when I sip my coke and refuse to share the cup.

At night, sitting in the silence, I can now process my thoughts about that phone call. My estrogen went up a little, but it's still incredibly unresponsive. I was told we have to cancel this cycle.

I am okay. I quietly told myself this, because the doctor didn't seem to care.

Here's where I get complicated. I feel guilty for feeling sad about this fail. When we were devastating ourselves over the need to have Carter, I said repeatedly to the sky above, Please, just let us have one, and I'll never want anything more in my life.

And then I was given my one.

I'm supposed to be putting every fiber of my being into loving and raising him - because I said I would. Worrying about shots and diverting dreams to a little being that isn't Carter has had me tinkering with a kind of awful feeling in the back of my heart. While it's true that I want this sibling to help fulfill Carter's life, I'd be lying if I didn't say I want it for myself, too.

There's still hope; we plan to move forward next month with another IVF cycle or two until we've exhausted our insurance benefits. But for now, my conscience is relieved to shift my focus back into the simplicity and oblivion that radiates around my ever-deserving, miraculous son.

I know, in time, that oblivion will absorb my sadness.