Two Years

I've never been good at math, but I did some calculations last week and came to a sad realization: It will be at least two years until we have a child in our arms. The next year will be devoted to Mike's recovery from the impending bone-marrow transplant (of course), and then a year from now -- whether we find a way to do another IVF, or pursue adoption -- our efforts would take a minimum of 10 months to bring us to parenthood. When I really let that time frame sink in, it felt overwhelming.
Two years.
Two years until I'm a mom.
How can that be?
When I hesitantly mentioned this to Mike, he admitted he'd done the same calculations. We're trying not to dwell on it, but it's a bitter pill to swallow.
Meanwhile at work, I heard my manager telling some co-workers that his wife is expecting in February. When I first heard him talking about it to someone, my heart sank and I felt myself getting all hot and sweaty. My eyes welled up with tears and I tried to hide it (not an easy feat in our cozy work area). In April, a few days after our BFN, we were talking and he mentioned to me that he and his wife were having similar trouble conceiving and were beginning to undergo tests. He didn't share the details, so I don't know if the pregnancy happened naturally or as a result of treatments, but it just felt like another one bit the dust. I'm happy for him on one hand, while I'm fighting off the jealousy beast with the other.