A Study in Marshmallow

It is white and snowy. Thanks weather god! You’re a bit too late, Christmas was last month! Snowy and mushy and squishy and just regular Tbilisi mud-covered, crumpled marshmallow world. And I reside in it, in my new reincarnation.  

I’m a chicken. I carry eggs with (in) me. I have precisely 9 eggs nestled in my ovaries. They require constant care.

Every morning I swallow bunch of pills and vitamins and hunch over my computer, translating textbooks and reports and reading materials for the class I’ll teach next semester. Then, I visit my aunt’s friend to get pocked with three ouchy needles. I can observe no behavioral-hormonal changes yet. No yelling or crying or listening to Celine Dion. Meanwhile the eggs keep growing, some faster, some slower. We’ll harvest something. Yep, the farmer lingo is definitely the new sexy in this family J

I don’t complain. Mostly. Just to friends. Or on FB. Or to my poor co-partner in crime (wait till they harvest your specimen, honey!) or about anywhere I can. Not to the doctors though. Not during my frequent clinic visits. I don’t want them to stop or pity me or do anything but measure the eggs. I think I’ll just set a tent out there. Travelling to Digomi every other day seems too bothersome.

Hello, is there anybody out there? It’s just a little pin prick…not entirely comfortably numb, but not panicking either. Actually, I rarely panic. Last time I panicked, I was in a pot-induced terror in Prague, believing my legs lost their walking capabilities. Every time I closed my eyes, either someone stabbed me, or burned me, or police arrested us, or my legs never regained consciousness…that was a fun trip, man, did I ever write about our Prague trip? Yes, cheap pun intended. So many good things happend last year and never made it to the blog!

That’s basically it though. Printing, cooking, cleaning, poked, ultrasounded and refusing to dismantle the Christmas tree. Honestly though, it is way overdue. Some decorations just fall of the branches on their own accord, crying out in despair.

I guess this season of turmoil has gone, done, evaporated. Depression – suppressed, numbness – out of the window, Sherlock – Season 3 behind us, hubby – married to work, Christmas tree – rotting in the living room.  I missed me, you know, just me, just happy, just regularly joyful, joking. I get this small window of calmness, before the never-ending 10 days of ye-shall-not-know-the-results, not knowing if the IVF worked.  It’s good to be back.

Meanwhile, I let in the fresh snow-smelling air, grow my eggs, poke my belly and type my reports. Pick up snake-coiled black socks that infest our apartment (seriously, how hard is it to throw the socks in the laundry bin?! You know who you are!). Pet my cat. Think of a possible new home. Look through Italian country décor online.

This a squishy new life of mine. A study in marshmallow.

P.S. OK so I am too lazy to throw it out, but doesn't the Christmas tree look awesome against the snow background?