cry today, bake tomorrow

So today I cried in the shower. Actually, the shower is my favorite place to cry. Something about the way it's already wet in there, and I'm all alone. There's no one running to get me a tissue or try to calm me down. It's just me and the shower tiles. No one is trying to make me stop, or worry that my crying will distract someone or wake them up. I don't have to worry about my makeup or my clothing or where the tissues are. It's a private place to let all my frustrations out and then wash them all away. Down the drain and swept to a whole other place.

Why did I cry? Hmmm. Complicated answer. I watched Julie & Julia this morning, and while I loved the story (what foodie wouldn't? cooking and blogging all wrapped up in one!) there were certain moments that touched the cry button. Like the fact that Julia Child couldn't seem to have children. It's not obviously mentioned in the film...in just two small moments. One where Julia and her husband are walking through the park in front of Notre Dame and she notices a mother pushing a stroller, and her husband pulls her closer and her expression is pained. The other moment is when her sister sends her a letter saying she is pregnant, and Julia bursts into tears. I could identify with those moments. Fleeting as they are, in film and in real life, women who are touched by infertility feel them acutely. This great woman, with all these accomplishments under her belt, wanted children. And did not have any. Makes my small life feel larger somehow. If someone that talented couldn't do it, I shouldn't feel so badly about not procreating either.

But, I got out of the shower and tried to pull on a new attitude. I got in the kitchen to make peppermint bark (post about those details to come later) and attempted to channel both Julia and the Pioneer Woman. Cooking and taking photos. So I take the warm melted bark out of the microwave and stir in the crushed candy canes. Then I walk around the island to where I have placed the cookie sheet. And I run smack dab into the still open microwave door. With my shoulder. Small amounts of bark go flying, and I start crying again. It hurt. Badly. I know I will have a bruise later.

So I'm crying and spreading bark and the dog is barking and I wonder how people get over the bad things that happen to them. Yes, I know sometimes people do bad things to themselves, but I'm not really talking about a drug addiction or being the victim of something horrible. Infertility happened to me. I didn't do it to myself. And how do I really get over it? Get past it? I think an obvious fix will come when we adopt a baby. I won't be able to dwell on being childless when we are no longer childless. That makes sense. But in the meantime, what do I do? How can I be proactive? When we were filling out all the paperwork, I had something to work on, to accomplish. Then we were putting the nursery together, and that gave me purpose. What is my purpose now?

To wait, I guess.

Ugh.

I've said it before, I really try and have a good outlook on all this. I try SO HARD. But the truth is that all that trying wears me out eventually. All the good attitudes and positive spirit are hard to hold up indefinitely. My smiling drama mask slips and the halo tilts and if you're looking right at the right time, you'll see one selfish human underneath. I want. I need. I can't have.

Pity party, table of one.

So tell me, all of you who read this blog, how do I lift my head and keep walking? What are the prayers I should pray? Any ideas for one who is just trying to keep her head above water? I know it's okay to grieve and mourn and be sad on occasion, but I'd like to come out of this a much better me. One who has learned a lesson about something. And I think I'm so far in it that I can't see what the lesson is. I can't see the forest for the trees.