Waiting. Worrying.

I should be grading papers. This is pretty much the mantra of the English professor. But my reason for not grading in this particular moment is not procrastination. Procrastination is sort of the opposite of what I'm doing. I'm not putting something off. Instead, I am waiting.

I have waited like this before, but I don't remember it being quite this awful. I spent five years waiting for the second half of every month. Hoping that something wouldn't, and therefore something else would, happen. And then, with the magical help of a virtual shit ton of medications, needles, and doctors, it did. Despite the four shots twice a day, the allergic reactions, the anxiety, the ultrasounds, I don't remember the wait feeling like this. I wasn't expecting the phone call when it arrived the morning of our garage sale. When it did, it was a revelation, probably because I didn't expect anything to happen at all.

In the last several days, I have felt feelings of joy and of misery that are, for the first time in two years, not connected to Nola. It has been liberating--I am a distinct person again--but horrible, because I know that we are moving forward into this new stage of independence. Both of us.

It is ironic that I recognized this feeling of independence only when I was trying to grow another tiny person. I have now spent the second half of this month waiting again. This time, there were no needles, although there was a doctor, so I suppose the process has been less hard. But the wait this time has been excruciating. Was that chocolate croissant a sign? Is that nausea I feel? Are my boobs sore or is Nola just really hungry? Am I tired because Nola woke up early, or is it something else? I have grown tired of diagnosing every physical twinge as relevant or not to the Big Question.

And then the day arrived, and nothing else did. But that first test was negative. I was sad, but remained uncertain. I had a bad feeling, replaced by a good feeling when the next day was also absent a certain visitor. And then the next day. And then the happiest test I ever had. Followed by the arrival of the visitor I assuredly did not want many hours later. In those hours, I worried about Nola: about what this might mean for her, about how she would adapt, about how she might feel about a companion.

And now I wait again, pretty sure I know she won't have this particular companion. But the not knowing is terrible. I have seen the test results, but this is one test I can't interpret on my own. The information is there, and as I assess the markers I can identify, I think I know. But even as I feel certain, I wait. I worry. I hope.