|I need this hat|
I liked the name Sybil and then it was a hit on Downton Abbey and I'm sure daycares are overrun with Sybils by now so when I was pregnant I was like, WELP, moving on! So I hounded Patrick for months over the name Marigold. I fought my Marigold corner hard. I made pitches like, "We can even use the name Ermengarde which you love so much for some reason as a middle name if you only agree to Marigold!" and "What about Marigold Archimedes?" -- insanity, in the name of winning the Marigold Battle. Alas, I lost. I got my botanical in somehow in the form of a middle name (but not Marigold) but I could not sway the guy on Marigold.
And now Downton Abbey has a little one named Marigold, so now I'll never ever win that war AND daycares will be full of little Marigolds reminding me of that fact.
I say this of course like we're going to have gobs of little girls to name and this is some sort of ongoing war. Far from it! I'm not expecting or anything! I go back and forth sometimes, thinking that I don't ever want to go through fertility doctor visits and IVF ever, ever again. One and done, as they say. But then I think about the embryo we've got on ice back in Brno, a trillion jillion miles away, and wonder what the ever living fuck we were thinking doing IVF abroad, because now it's always going to be there, waiting, waiting, waiting, very far away. And it's not even a very good embryo!
It's odd. Having one, you'd think I'd want to wash my hands of the whole ugly ordeals it takes for us (apparently) to have one, and I'd just be content. But life and thoughts are messier than that. Emotions aren't entirely logical, even for someone as cold-hearted and logic-fueled as INTP-me. Don't get me started on how sometimes I wonder if maybe having one could have jump-started something into working properly -- like, I've had enough random bad luck that maybe I'd have some random good luck and things will just...magically work the way they should now, without a whole heaping pile of help and dollars! Ah denial, hello.
Maybe someday I'll win that Marigold War. Maybe. Or maybe not. Luckily for me, we can just keep paying rent on that embryo for now, and put the idea off a while longer. But that IVF clock ticks faster than regular clocks, it seems. Success rates and maternal age -- I'm thinking about maternal age and I'm not even 29 yet -- loom large in my thoughts. What a bunch of hooey.
Anyway. I'm putting a flag in Marigold, Downton Abbey daycare fuel or no. I'm not quite ready to wave my white flag yet.