He found me crying in the bathroom yesterday. It wasn’t that I ever truly believed I could be pregnant, it’s just that I spent four days working it all out in my head and two days hoping with all my might that it would happen. It was the first time in my life that I thought I might be pregnant and actually wanted it to be true, without a doubt.
He asked why I had kept it to myself for a week, why I hadn’t shared it with him. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to know what I was going through, it was that I wanted to go through it, I needed to go through it. One final chance, one last dream that it could be true, without all the reasons why it shouldn’t be, reminders of all that could go wrong, all the difficulties it would bring.
He wanted me to stop crying but I needed to let it out, needed to go through it. I needed to mourn and feel, so I could let go and move on. I hope I will be a mom someday, I still believe it might happen. But I know now that true happiness comes from being open to either possibility so that I can want what I get, because I can’t always get what I want.