I stand here in the same spot I’ve stood in for twenty-nine months now.
Occasionally, I’ve paced.
Always, I’ve hoped.
But I’ve stood here on solid ground.
Twenty-nine months of trying for just one more baby.
If I inch close to the edge of the hill, there’s a patch of loose gravel.
And I know that if I place my foot there, it will give way and I will tumble.
I have worried that if I give up hope and step on that patch, I may not survive the fall.
For all these months, I have avoided it.
Kept my distance.
But now, I’m inching closer.
With my toes, I push at the edge of the loose gravel and I watch the small stones tumble, gaining speed until they finally settle at the bottom of the hill.
The fall, while fast, ends peacefully.
I know that I can’t stand here forever.
I think that I’m ready to take that step.
And for the first time, I feel like once I reach the bottom, I will be okay.
Perhaps even better than okay.