I want you to see me standing, serene, on a cliff top. I'm upright, with my shoulders back and my chin out and my hands folded neatly in front of me. If you like, you can add long hair, flapping gently in a light breeze, or lips, loosely gathered in a soft smile. You can peer at my toes, planted barefoot in the mud, spaced wide and firm, with the earth oozing between them. My hips are square and strong. My chest expands with unhurried breaths. In all this, what you must see is my stillness, my confidence, my calm.

That is how I see myself most days. On the other days, I dance. I become whirling motion, moved by the music, thrown around by a rhythm I don't control. On those days, I choose to close my eyes, to feel the world tilt up in my living room as I surrender my powers of vision and give in to a cacophony I bring upon myself, swayed but not falling, bent but responding, leaping, and shuffling, and turning around.

Rarely, I weep. I curl into myself, squeezing up like a sponge to wring out the sadness. I do this not because I am uncertain, but because I am becoming certain, and I know (after all I've been through) that these tears will help me buy my passage home.

And I know (after all we've been through) that I want to tell you how to see me. I stand. I dance. I weep. All of these are who I am.

What can I tell you about a vision I can't quite yet see?

If you click to Infertility Journey you'll find it ends with two blasts and six two-day embryos on ice. Except it can't actually end there, can it? It was always the plan (at least vaguely the plan) to wait til the two children we're now parenting gave us the breathing room we'd need to take another chance, and then take that chance. These days I know if we wait any longer I'll suffocate.  

My hands are full in ways I won't go into, and though I move continuously into the future, the future defies my attention when I haven't yet sorted out my present. Faintly, though, I hear myself yearning for other things. Then with regret, I remember how I loved pregnancy - I loved pregnancy - whilst admitting I don't think I can handle more parenting. We (the both of us) feel responsible for our embryos, but we no longer think the best home for them's here. 

Last month, the way forward seemed obvious, and at the same time, unexpectedly difficult. In the end I picked up the phone anyway, and offered our embryos to friends who were heading into their "one last IVF cycle", and they said if this try fails, they'd love to give our embryos a chance with them. 

Sometimes the truth reveals itself best in the moment of action. Before the call, I cried solid tears. As we hung up, I breathed in peace. 

Wish me luck with the two week wait, and I'll let you know how things turn out.

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