Picture this

There's this thing I do where I ask myself if I can picture something becoming a reality in an attempt to determine the likelihood of it actually becoming a reality. Like when I was dating Rob and would sleep over, I would look around and see if I could picture living there with him, or being married to him. Now I look around and try to picture a child stumbling across the furniture, or me having a big belly and waddling around in discomfort, or us getting up in the middle of the night or morning to soothe and feed a wriggling baby.

I always wonder if I have a hard time picturing it, does that mean it's not going to happen? For the most part I think the answer is yes. And I never seem to revisit the picture to determine if I have been right or wrong.

For a long time I've thought I wouldn't be able to have children...and I seriously doubt I'll be able to. I can't picture our spare bedroom as a babies room. I can't picture a baby pulling themselves up to stand on our coffee table, and I can't picture me coming out of the bathroom holding a stick with a couple of lines on it, or a plus, or however "positive" happens to show.

And I really think I should just give up trying altogether. Just accept it's not going to happen because I can't picture it. Give up the grief of it.

Regardless of how I've ever come across or been labelled, I've actually persevered through all of the shit that has been my life and continues to be thrown my way. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have continued to work on myself; I wouldn't have gotten remarried; I just wouldn't be.

I'm turning 36. That seems a little old to be trying anyway. It's not like I'll be able or willing to afford several thousand dollars to force nature's hand, or able to afford a nanny or two for some inevitable batch of triplets.

I really thought I'd be a good mother, too.

I generally try not to beat my head against the same wall over and over again expecting a different result. After trying and trying to get a job in communications, outside of broadcasting, I finally gave up when it was obvious I didn't have the experience. I finally accepted I didn't have what an employer wanted.

I'm closer to accepting my ovaries don't cooperate.

Why should they, anyway? Life isn't fair. The greatest injustice is we someone learned it should be.

I've had enough happen to me to know the scales are not balanced and they never will be.

Karma is simply not a bitch.

And hope is not a strategy.