One More Year

My birthday is today; I'm 37. Wow. That sounds old. When did that happen? I wasn't paying attention obviously.

Another year passed by without any luck. Another year of hopes and dreams... gone. And as I embark on this year, I hold on to a shred of hope. The faint glimmer that somewhere, out there, someone is listening and can make this work. That God is listening to my prayers and will help us achieve this goal and fulfil our dreams.

A tiny sliver of certainty tells me something else: If I get to 38 and still haven't been lucky, then it will be time to throw in the towel. So I have one year left. One year to do this and be successful.

I hold hope that this new donor will bring us luck. I feel good about changing donors and I feel good about this coming cycle. But I don't feel so good about my birthday.

When you're a child, birthdays are so important. They mark huge milestones. "I'm 5," so that means going to school. "I'm 10," oooh, double digits! "I'm 13," a teenager! "I'm 17," a drivers licence! "I'm 19," give me a beer! "I'm 25," quarter of a century! And on and on it goes. Milestones to celebrate and enjoy. But at 37, there are no milestones. There are no huge things to mark anymore. There is... nothing. Oh yes, of course, there are wishes from family and friends. There is love from my husband and I recognize that I am lucky in many respects. These things are not trivial, by no stretch of the imagination and I give thanks for them. However, at age 37, I'd hoped to have children by now and to look forward to celebrating THEIR birthdays and milestones, rather than just marking passing years in my own life. There are bigger, more important things in life than me. And I would love to be part of that.

Please God, may this year bring me the ultimate birthday gift.