I’m not on no yellow brick road.

By and large, we’re keeping our little journey under wraps. We’ve decided that what for all the anxiety it’s bound to produce in our every female family member, friend, acquaintance, and almost-stranger – and what for how we expect they’re likely to remind us all about it just when we’d like to forget – we’re not going to tip them off about our fertility woes until much later. Later. As in after we’re a full three months pregnant or get a call that our adoption papers are being processed. Whichever comes first.

In the meantime, though, their unknowing all but guarantees we’re privy to the kind of things people say when they don’t know you’re trying and even if they did they couldn’t fathom that someone like me, someone like the Papa Pro-Pro, should ever have the slightest bit of difficulty getting knocked up.

You can’t have babies! Not yet. You’ve got so much time to worry about kids. You’re lucky. You’re so young, and having babies is going to be so easy for you! You’ll just be able to have them whenever you want. I mean, I’m really worried. I’ll be 43 next month with no prospects. You can’t even imagine how it feels to wonder if you’re going to have a baby!

Oh. Oh really. Interesting. Last time I checked it was 2010. Who needs prospects, home slice? And, umm, since when did age become the ultimate/only fertility yard-stick? Note: It ain’t. Suggestion: Shut the hell up. Starting…now.

As it is, though, because we’ve decided to be so selective in the telling, we nod and smile politely and get back to scheduling doctors appointments in code on our wall calendar, hiding – from all but the Great and Powerful G-d and our bffs – all the evidence of two people who know more than most folks can imagine about this thing with which we’d rather know nothing…this thing about which everybody figures we couldn’t have a clue.

If we’d managed to get preggers on the outset, we’d be welcoming home our first child this week, but we might not be so wonderfully wise for all the time we didn’t spend listening and learning. We might not have such terrific perspective. We might have a little less empathy for folks for whom having children isn’t as simple as many a teenaged mama might have us believe. Or worse. We might feel sorry for people who have themselves a tough go at growing a baby bump.

But I don’t feel sorry. Especially not for me. I feel perhaps a little bit like Dorothy when she pulls back the curtain and realizes the “wizard” is just a dude. She’s bummed for a hot second, but she’s wiser for having a fuller grasp on reality. She’s got this whole new perspective. She’s stronger, braver. She’s grateful.

I’m not bringing home baby this week. But I landed a terrific job. The Papa Pro-Pro and I were pre-approved for a home loan; we’re scouting out a place to call our very own. And we’re planning a mini-vaycay. He loves me. I love him. Our bffs are brilliant, beautiful people; one of them is coming to visit tomorrow! Hurricane Earl was just downgraded to a Category 3. And whilst tidying up the apartment this afternoon, a little ditty came on the radio that made me smile because… well, it was the soundtrack of my today.

* * *

I’m off to see the wizard in his castle on the hill;
 And I never once have known him and I do not know him still; Because his face, it is magnificent, but you’ll never see his hands; 
And the way he throws his voice around I don’t know where he stands.

I’m off to see the wizard with his curtain and his crowd; 
But my hands are not trembling and my head it is not bowed; Cause I’m not looking for any answers, no truths to be revealed; 
All that I am asking is to show me something real.

I’m not on no yellow brick road, got a mind and a heart and guts of my own; 
I’m not looking for a one to set me free; 
I’m not on no yellow brick road, I’ll find my own way home; 
I’m just looking for someone to walk with me.

Hey you, behind the curtain, tell me what is it you see:
 From where you sit, does it appear that everyone is on their knees?
 Their eyes are wide and hopeful and the line grows at the door;
 Do you sit up there and wonder how you’ll ever give them more?

Well, I’m not on no yellow brick road, got a mind and a heart and guts of my own; 
I’m not looking for a one to set me free; 
I’m not on no yellow brick road, I’ll find my own way home; 
I’m just looking for someone…

Don’t say that it’s not lonely up above the crowd; 
Don’t tell me you don’t find yourself longing for the ground; 
And when I asked him one more time won’t you tear the curtain down; 
He said don’t you know there’s nothing here but me; And I said, baby, who’d you think I came to see?

I’m not on no yellow brick road, got a mind and a heart and guts of my own; 
I’m not looking for a one to set me free; 
I’m not on no yellow brick road, I’ll find my own way home; 
I’m just looking for someone to walk with me.

~ Kris Delmhorst, “Yellow Brick Road”


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About Projected Progenitor

Projected (adj.) (prə-ˈjekt-ed): From the 15th Century Anglo-French 'projector,' from Latin 'projectus.' Devised in the mind, predicted. Progenitor (n.) (prō-ˈje-nə-tər): Middle English, from the 14th Century Anglo-French 'progenitour,' from Latin 'progenitor,' meaning 'to beget.' An ancestor in the direct line, foreparent.
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