The French Press

The only upside to having a fasting blood draw is being able to go out for breakfast afterward.   Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day, so much so that our wedding reception was a brunch buffet. 

Thursday after blood work I stopped at Starbucks for my current obsession, the Cinnamon Dolce Latte.  Looking at the many lovely coffee-brewing apparatuses, including the classic french press, I was reminded of an exchange I had with my mother about 15 years ago. 

It was after college and I was staying at home while I took auditions for grad school.  I was accepted to my dream school for my dream degree, the only one like it in the country.  The only caveat was that it was an expensive school in an expensive city with a program so demanding that a part-time job would be impossible.

My father immediately expressed his disapproval of this financial risk but offered no solutions, advice or alternatives.  I went forward with my plans and sent in my deposit.  He and my mother kept their heads in the sand all summer while I took out student loans, booked my flight, researched apartments, and whittled down my living essentials to one backpack, two suitcases, and a viola.

Just as I was packing my french press (the only piece of kitchen equipment I owned), my mother walked by.  In the most judgemental tone possible, she sneered,  “Can’t you do without coffee while you’re there?!”

And that was the entire conversation my mother and I had about grad school. 

The next day I asked my dad to drive me to the airport.

(Pause.)

“You’re actually doing this?”

And that was the entire conversation my father and I had about grad school.

When I arrived at grad school, I had almost everything in place except a signed lease.  In hindsight, I was fine.  But I was terrified and I lacked a support system.  Rather than help me acquire the skills to succeed, my parents just told me that I’d never be able to do it.

The biggest regret in my life so far is that I believed them.  Two weeks later, I withdrew from my dream school and flew home.   The next year was more depressing and demoralizing than any year of infertility has ever been.  I still think of it with great sadness.

This kind of self esteem baggage makes it so easy to slip into blaming myself for my infertility. But for the first time, I didn’t apologize to K for losing this baby.  Small step for mankind, giant leap for Haven.  ❤

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