What Do I Count Now?

On BabyQuest, the end of Passover, and finding faith at the end of the first week of the Omer

I was trying to write this post yesterday. I had the vision of where I wanted this post to go but I could never get the words on a page. Today is the seventh day of the Omer, the end of the week of loving kindness. At 12:30 this morning, I was checking my email as I was still awake after recovering from a low sugar episode, and then I saw the email sent at 11:11 pm. BabyQuest grant not received. Heartbreaking.

I’m currently writing this laying in bed. Nick is snoring next to me. He doesn’t even know yet. (He knows now.) All I can think is how do I tell him? How do I hold on to hope when everything feels so out of reach?

There is so much going on in life right now — my mother-in-law having a mental health crisis, our nephew coming soon, dreading the approaching 42nd birthday in September. I’m not fully counting the Omer, but I was in my own way. I was counting and trying to stay positive for getting the BabyQuest grant, which I was told I would learn about around the beginning of May. Then would have to tell the clinic we were ready to try again, and my next cycle was supposed to start almost at the same time as Shavuot. It felt like everything was finally lining up. But here we are. What do I count now?

My whole life has been counting the days and then somehow missing the revelation at the end. When I was a kid, I told myself I wanted to be a mother before I was 31. This random, arbitrary number comes from that being the age my mother was when she had me. I absolutely love my mother, but she was never the fun parent — all she did on Saturday mornings was clean the house. My dad, who was seven years younger than her, would take me and my brother out for donuts, to feed the ducks down at Riverfront Park, go yard sale shopping, and more. At times I felt she didn’t want to be my mom, and I thought it was because she was “so old.”

That countdown ran all the way up to my 31st year. That’s when I started fertility treatments with my ex. While I’m glad I didn’t actually have children with them, I’m still sad by the fact that I am 41, going on 42, and still not a mother. I think to myself at times whether wanting this so badly and trying so hard for it means a child I could have won’t get a fun parent like others with younger moms will have. When Nick and I started this journey years ago, I placed 42 as my cutoff year. As we approach my birthday, I feel the need to extend that date — but I’m no longer sure where I’m counting to.

To be human is to be perfectly imperfect. Some people can have children while others cannot. Some are able to be caregivers for the elderly while others cannot. As much as I want everything I’ve always wanted, understanding my imperfections as what makes me beautifully human is what keeps me going. Things can change, people can help others achieve what they cannot alone, and science is a beautiful thing. Among the other things I don’t do perfectly, I don’t always count the Omer as well as others. But getting their emails, seeing their posts about their daily count is an inspiration to keep counting, even when I’m not perfect.

Today is the last day of Passover, the holiday of our liberation, and the seventh day of counting the Omer — the preparing for revelation. I end this week of Chesed, loving kindness, with pain in my heart. Tonight begins the second week, Gevurah, the week of strength and discipline.

Will I count each day and meditate on the beauty of the sefirot? I’ll do the best I can as an imperfect human. Similarly, I’ll keep trying to find funding for our fertility journey. In the email last night, there was an announcement of another grant possibility to be decided by the end of May — only two grants worth $15,000 each. It’s a long shot but it’s worth the try. To keep taking these steps in faith, in hope that one day, maybe, I can become a mother, is what I’ll keep doing for now. I’ll keep counting, and eventually I’ll end up at my own mountain where all will be revealed and I’ll know my actual path forward.