So, we leave for the Walk of Hope tonight. I’m equal parts excited and exhausted just thinking about it.
The Walk itself will be brilliant, no doubt about it. Last year I left with a sense of inspiration, hope, and optimism that was startlingly uncomfortable to this lifelong pessimist. This year I’m rolling up prepared. I’ve packed my happy shit-face grin, positive thoughts, and acceptance of outdoor group yoga. I’m excited for a vacation from my self.
I’m also excited to leave the frigid north for a beautifully sunny and warm D.C. I’ve never liked the heat and when I accepted this new gig last summer I embraced the climate change that came with it. That is until, on our walk home from trivia night on Wednesday, JUNE FUCKING 19th, I saw frost on the grass. Bring on the 90 degree weather, D.C., momma’s missed it! Shorts and sandals? Check and check.
And, finally, we get to see family and friends, revisit some of our favorite sites, and get out of
Bedford Falls, Stars Hollow, the quiet little sleepy village we now call home. My gift to my very newly engaged gal pal down south is packed as is my appetite for all things not the pizza, McDonald’s, and pub grub one can get in this town.
But, just thinking of the drive and lack of sleep ahead of us, and the missed opportunities behind me, has me a little weary. Mr. But IF and I slightly amended our previously discussed travel plans. Last night I threw a (can I blame this on PIO?) temper tantrum, and finally decided I wasn’t willing to go straight from our driveway to the Walk without access to a shower or a blow dryer. I’m by no means a high maintenance gal, but I would like to have the opportunity to brush my teeth before mingling with my IF heroes. So, the 6.5 hour midnight drive has been scrapped. Mr. But IF leaves work at 7, we’ve got a hotel reserved along our drive, we’ll get to sleep around 12:30, and be back on the road by 6:30am to make it to the National Harbor in time. That means I have the time between 5 and 7 this evening to check the oil in my car, get gas, pack, tidy the house, and all that jazz before I spend the next eternity on the road. I’ve certainly cut things closer, but I fear I’m also packing a boatload of worry.
And the worry is likely packed right next to the needles and sharps container I’ll be bringing with us. Anyone have tips on how to sneak off to a bathroom with your husband in his Aunt and Uncle’s house exactly at 7pm in order to have him jab you in the ass with a giant needle? No-one? In related news, you remember how upset I was about the Lovenox not being nearly as horrific as I was warned? Let’s just be glad I don’t plan on wearing a bikini to the Walk.
I won’t, however, be packing the witty T-shirts I’d planned to make. And this has me sad. I’ve been mentally designing these things since April, and we even named our team around the t-shirt theme, but they are not meant to be. Call it another casualty of moving to the frozen northern tundra. I just couldn’t get my hormonal TWWing ass up to the craft store to get the iron-on transfers I needed. C’est la vie.
But that regret has me thinking of other regrets. I’d love it if next year (because, we are certainly going again next year!) we could form a bigger team. What can I say, ask my trivia team, I’m a competitive person at heart and our little team of two can’t contend with the big guns on the fundraising leader boards. And, more importantly, I’d really love to share this experience with others besides Mr. But IF. Next year, I’m packing my team. And we WILL have t-shirts.
Finally, I wish I had broken my silence in our small town with the aim of doing a little more local/grassroots fundraising. The burden has fallen unfairly on the backs of friends, family members, and other infertility sufferers, and I don’t doubt a box in our public library or on the counter of our regular hangout brewpub, or an announcement on our village’s social networking site would have resulted in some donations. Navigating our IF during this move (both professionally and geographically) has been difficult. When you live in a company town, your personal life has a way of getting straight back to your employer. I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet. We’ll reassess after my 3-year review. So, I suppose, I’m also packing a little apprehension and uncertainty about my self-identified role as an outspoken IF advocate thrust into small town life.
But, the issue of my anonymity may have to be forced sooner rather than later. It’s premature to say much, but I received a tremendously exciting email this morning. Like, an I-let-out-a-little-squeal-in-the-middle-of-my-meeting-when-the-notification-popped-up-on-my-iPad email. More details to come, but suffice it to say it’s about my work on this blog. I’m equal parts humbled and speechless. And, I’ll have to make room in my suitcase for my growing ego.
Next stop, National Harbor!