Its been a few month since I started acupuncture. I researched, found a guy whose education and belief system I liked. Hes fantastic, really kind and caring. That was in November. The effects were swift, it helped me to relax, and more importantly it helped my body get ready for IVF. I started sleeping better, things bothered me less and generally I was just coping with stress better.

I spent a month or so feeling like I was finally climbing out of a really dark place that I’ve been in for a long time, and by long time, I mean at least 4 years. But finally a tiny flicker of hope, like a breath of fresh air, that I protected the way you cup your hand around a flame in the wind. The fact that the flame was so tiny, made me feel vulnerable, constantly on the verge of tears, raw. I was afraid of it, because while I am sure most people don’t wander around with a thick turtle shell on, in my world it’s never ever been safe not to. Incoming can fall at any time.

A few months ago I had a counseling session with my husband where for the first time we were talking about his Aspergers, coping mechanisms and expectations with the therapist. I felt hopeful, like I was doing it well, understanding and dealing with his brilliance, and his limitations. When out of nowhere he took a kind of right turn, started talking about his daughter, and how I really wasn’t a very good mother because of my upbringing. That I compared my family to hers. That wasn’t true. It infuriated me that he said that, and it sent me crashing to the ground with a hard humiliating thud.

After talking about it later, what he says he was trying to say was how far I have come in the 11years I’ve been in her life. How far away I was from the early times when I really probably wasn’t a very good mother to her. But the nature of his Aspergers leaves him sort of stuck on a single thought, sometimes for a long time. So he never got there.

To be honest, it threw me. I mean walking around in the world, all squishy and raw, it’s just not my strong suit. Add the holidays, my fractured family, that I’m not really feeling great about myself, and the fact that I am anxious about starting IVF, and what you have is a recipe for slime.

You saw Ghostbuster‘s right? That fat greedy, nasty, needy, little monster i.e. me, who is all emotional and vulnerable, has a conversation that spins off in the wrong direction and slimes you.

The slime is just some weird concoction of tears and snot so while not really hygienic it’s also not going to kill you. It’s just yucky. And so are all these feelings.

I’m trying to come out the other side at hope. Because yes I said it. I want a baby. The entire idea of procreation is one based in hope. Hope that you will be successful and that the baby will come out healthy. Hope that you can successfully raise the child without the scars your own parents left, and without too many new ones that you left. Hope that the world is kind enough to this child that it flourishes and doesn’t see the hard times you’ve been through.

At some level you hope it will redeem you. That it will be the truest love you have ever felt or given. Hope that everything will be alright. This is a child’s phrase, but in the end isn’t it what we all hope for? That everything will be alright?