The Wannabe Mom: Marking Time

by The Wannabe Mom

I keep a very special calendar on my desk. Her name is Georgia (I like to name inanimate objects–purses, my car, our lawnmower, etc.). She’s large and in-charge. And, she’s covered with the markings of my life.

I use a Blackberry, but I can’t bring myself to use its calendar application. I prefer my Georgia. I love writing on her–by hand–all of my life’s happenings. I love crossing through appointments and meetings that come and go. And, I love drawing big, bold Xs over the days as they pass us by.

Georgia is heavily tattooed. I work on top of her–marking her with red, green, black and blue ink and every neon shade of hi-lighter you could imagine. I use her as a placemat for lunch and my spills makes a mess of her days. My not-so-artisticsketches and doodles cover her corners and edges.

These past seventeen months, I’ve also been using her as my conception calendar. I circle the day I start my period. I drawhearts next to the days we plan to have intercourse or inseminations. I circle the day I should ovulate and the day I couldstart peeing on home pregnancy tests. I write down all my doctor’s appointments. And, at the bottom of her page I record all my cycle end-dates for easy reference. 1-14, 2-9, 3-7, 4-2, 4-27, 5-22. You get the idea.

During the last week of each month, I transfer anything of importance to her next month’s calendar page. And, I rewrite all those cycle end-dates along the bottom. I rip off that old month–Xed to the max–and toss it into my trashcan.

There is something very therapeutic in waving goodbye to an old-crummy-busted-cycle and I feel the same way aboutwaving goodbye to each of Georgia’s used and abused pages. I’m reenergized by that fresh, clean calendar page with fresh circles and hearts. I’m renewed by the hope of a new month–and a new cycle–bringing us a new baby.

I just pitched May and all its markings. Good riddens.

I started to diagram June’s cycle. And, I had to stop myself.

This month, we’re not doing any baby-making. So, I don’t need to use Georgia as my baby-making calendar. For an entire cycle, I don’t have any doctor’s appointments to record. I don’t have any cycle days to mark. I don’t have to draw hearts or circles around any of her days. I didn’t even rewrite all my cycle end-dates along the bottom of her page. All of thosefailed cycles went into the trash with May 2010. I’m moving forward. And, I’m not looking back.

It’s a weird feeling. For the first time in seventeen cycles, I’m not mapping our cycle-plan or our every night-move. It’s so very unnatural for me–a writer, planner, obsessive-compulsive organizer. All I have written on June 2010 is a reminderabout a dentist appointment I scheduled for the middle of the month.

Georgia looks naked. But, I think she likes it that way. And, I think I like her that way too. Wide-open spaces. Plenty of room to make anything happen. Plenty of room to make life happen. At least for one month–one cycle–I can keepGeorgia and all her markings off my mind.

by The Wannabe Mom

I keep a very special calendar on my desk. Her name is Georgia (I like to name inanimate objects — purses, my car, our lawnmower, etc.). She’s large and in-charge, and she’s covered with the markings of my life.

I use a Blackberry, but I can’t bring myself to use its calendar application. I prefer my Georgia. I love writing on her — by hand — all of my life’s happenings. I love crossing through appointments and meetings that come and go. I love drawing big, bold Xs over the days as they pass us by.

Georgia is heavily tattooed. I work on top of her — marking her with red, green, black and blue ink and every neon shade of hi-lighter you could imagine. I use her as a place mat for lunch and my spills makes a mess of her days. My not-so-artistic sketches and doodles cover her corners and edges.

These past 17 months, I’ve also been using her as my conception calendar. I circle the day I start my period. I draw hearts next to the days we plan to have intercourse or inseminations. I circle the day I should ovulate and the day I couldstart peeing on home pregnancy tests. I write down all my doctor’s appointments. And, at the bottom of her page I record all my cycle end-dates for easy reference. 1-14, 2-9, 3-7, 4-2, 4-27, 5-22. You get the idea.

During the last week of each month, I transfer anything of importance to her next month’s calendar page. I rewrite all those cycle end-dates along the bottom. I rip off that old month — X-ed to the max — and toss it into my trashcan.

There is something very therapeutic in waving goodbye to an old-crummy-busted-cycle and I feel the same way about waving goodbye to each of Georgia’s used and abused pages. I’m re-energized by that fresh, clean calendar page with fresh circles and hearts. I’m renewed by the hope of a new month — and a new cycle — bringing us a new baby.

I just pitched May and all its markings. Good riddance.

I started to diagram June’s cycle. I had to stop myself.

This month, we’re not doing any baby-making. I don’t need to use Georgia as my baby-making calendar. For an entire cycle, I don’t have any doctor’s appointments to record. I don’t have any cycle days to mark. I don’t have to draw hearts or circles around any of her days. I didn’t even rewrite all my cycle end-dates along the bottom of her page. All of those failed cycles went into the trash with May 2010. I’m moving forward. And I’m not looking back.

It’s a weird feeling. For the first time in seventeen cycles, I’m not mapping our cycle-plan or our every night-move. It’s so very unnatural for me — a writer, planner, obsessive-compulsive organizer. All I have written on June 2010 is a reminder about a dentist appointment I scheduled for the middle of the month.

Georgia looks naked. I think she likes it that way. I think I like her that way, too. Wide-open spaces. Plenty of room to make anything happen. Plenty of room to make life happen. At least for one month — one cycle — I can keep Georgia and all her markings off my mind.

The Wannabe Mom has been trying to conceive for more than a year and was recently diagnosed with unexplained infertility. She and her husband live and work in Champaign, and they desperately want to drive a Toyota Sienna minivan someday. We’ll be following her journey, so buckle up and get ready to cry with her — and cheer her on, too.