I have exceptionally good news: I just passed my second licensing exam. which means that I am now a licensed clinical social worker!
This means I can immediately get a raise in my current job, but what it really means is that I can gradually LEAVE my current job and move into private practice. This is a huge deal, because I have been working towards this since forever ago. There was the undergraduate degree, then the graduate degree, then the 3200 supervised hours to collect, then the pre-licensure coursework, then the mountain of paperwork to apply as a candidate for the tests, then the months of intensive studying and the ocean of anxiety that I almost drowned in while prepping for the first test, then a repeat for the second test. Needless to say, I am giving myself a huge pat on the back right now.
Being done with this process though, brings me back to another part of my life that I have been studiously avoiding for, say, the last nine months. That part would be the question of trying for another child.
As soon as I gave birth to my son, I decided I wanted to do it again. I loved the birthing process, the unbelievably soft skin of my newborn and the surprising fierceness of my immediate love for him. Each time I have ever asked my now almost 4-year-old son if he’d like a little brother or sister, his answer is an enthusiastic yes. My husband, a little less enthusiastic, but he’s willing to give it a go.
If you have been following my blog for a while, you know about the miscarriages I experienced last year, as well as the partial molar pregnancy that shook me to my core. After all this, I wondered if I had the courage to try to get pregnant again. After mulling it over for a while, I decided to focus on getting this licensing process out of the way, and then try one more time.
The time is here to try. I am standing at the edge of a precipice, and I am suddenly unsure about taking the next step. Fear and grief blind me from seeing the answer when I ask myself and God if another child is in the cards for me. I am so afraid to try again and I am terrified to hope for this. Forget believing in it.
And then I take a step back and loosen my white-knuckled grip. And maybe I am starting to get some perspective here. The thing is, what this all comes down to is lack of control. I can attempt to get pregnant. I can take care of my body and do all those things one can do to encourage fertility, but that’s it. Beyond that, it’s fate, God’s will, or a roll of the dice; whichever you believe in. I can only do what I can do, and then it is out of my hands. And I need to be OK with that. I just need to be okay.
To be all right with grief. To know I may get pregnant and fall in love with the teeny life inside of me, and then it may stop growing. And this might happen right around the time my mom decides to go, because my mom now has hospice in her life, so it won’t be long now. So one way or another, grief is going to get me.
I think I might be okay, because the thing is that the wheel turns and we eventually lose everything in life. That is the human experience, to believe in the illusion that anything is ours to have to lose in the first place.
Here I am at the precipice. And the time is now or never. I think I can be courageous now. I can stand with my hands open and empty. Gaze into the infinite. Breathe…and take that last step into the abyss.