Saturday, August 2, 2008

One Pill Makes You Larger.

Today is our nine-month anniversary for being blissfully, happily, blindingly, ecstatically, delusionally, conservatively, unremittingly, relentlessly, fearlessly, comedically, wonderfully in love and married. I’m going to focus on the “fearless” aspect as I write about our big decision. Mr. Husband says he’s been waiting for a sign. We both know the clock is ticking. My friend Nader used to have this great joke when I was single where he’d stomp on the floor and ask, “do you hear that? That’s Heather’s biological clock ticking!” He’s a funny Arab who is often right in his joking. Mr. Husband and I knew that when we entered into this marriage-wonder-thing, we were looking toward the future and toward a family. We also fully acknowledge that it’s now or never. I am past that precious age of having time to wander and frolic without a care. The flowers will need to wait to be sniffed for a few years. It’s go time.

August 3rd, 2008 is the last birth control pill we’ll take. Yes: we. It has been a joint venture from the start. I went on the pill with Mr. Husband two years ago after being single and not really needing such contraceptive help. We’ve been taking Yasmin, and we love it. Except for the extreme boob pain once a month, all else is cake. Really good cake like the kind that surprises you for no reason. Like it’s not your birthday. We’ve had a good fun time with regulated everything. No crying. No mood swings. Very few cramps. Yasmin, dear Yasmin, you’ve been good to us. We’re sorry to see you go. But you must.

We’ve been grappling with this decision as we get closer to the house being built. The plan (of course I have a plan) has been to wait until after we are moved in. We’ll drink champagne on the upper porch and toast each other and then go off the pill. Then we’ll be like rabbits. However, with the birth of the Topazi baby and their year and a half struggle to get pregnant, we begin to wonder if we’re wasting precious time that we simply do not have. We begin to fear. And, oh yes, I begin to panic. I corner Mr. Husband. I tell him it’s time. He worries. He is silent. He tells me to wait. He points out that if we get pregnant now, we will not be able to afford all the cute and wonderful little things that we’d like to—we’ll be poor. We go to bed many nights thinking on this issue. We hold each other and we murmur to each other little thoughts and ideas. We try. We continue to panic. We think.

Mr. Husband is waiting for a sign.

We have signs-o-plenty this week. We are overwhelmed with signs. We have signs falling from the sky as if God is touching us with his very loving nudge. The big sign comes on Wednesday, July 29th. It’s time to call into the pharmacy for my birth control refill. I call. I am told by the helpful computer robot that the pharmacist needs to speak with me. I wait. I hear really bad music. I wait. A kind lady comes on the line and tells me that my prescription has expired. I ask her when. She tells me that it expired the day before. I ask, “So, you mean, had I phoned yesterday—you would have been able to refill for one more month?” She tells me that’s right. My logic is correct. “But since I called today, you cannot refill it?” Yes. That’s right, again. Bingo. I’ve got it. While it is no immediate tragedy, the pharmacy will phone my doctor’s office, it is something. Something. Mr. Husband immediately marks it as a sign. That’s what it is.

We went early to Mellow Mushroom this week, stopping off at the house first, to find cabinets in our kitchen covered up with plastic wrap, waiting to be exposed, waiting for the ceiling trim to be painted, making it safe for their premiere into the world of kitchens and super new house. We find this and we are stunned with the progress. Off to Mellow Mushroom to eat pizza and realize it’s all really happening.

Mr. Husband doesn’t look at me, but looks down at his hands and says, “I wouldn’t bother picking up another pack of birth control.” He says it. I was totally there. He wouldn’t look at me, but he could feel me begin to squirm and dance in my seat across the table. He looked up, then, with a smile beginning to spread across his face and we looked into each other’s eyes. The sign had come. The decision had been made.

The next morning, after we parted in the Mt. Laurel snickleway and I walked to my office leaving Mr. Husband at his, I stepped to cross Main Street and a dragon fly floated directly in front of me. I’m sure that the dragonfly touched me with his black wings as he floated by effortlessly. He touched me. Out of the blue. In the middle of Mt. Laurel. From nowhere. The dragonfly made his way and went on past me after gracing me with his beauty. Those who know me understand that sign. I am awake. We are both awake.

The greatest and scariest adventure of our lives comes now. We are ready.

1 comment:

facingthetrend said...

I'm so excited for the two of you. This was a nice post!