Well....wow.

So, I love movies. I mean, I LOVE the movies. I'm not even sure why, they're rarely good and even more rarely have any redeeming content. Anyone remember Road Trip?

I spent the day at the mall, searching for a shirt for the HG to wear to my little sister's wedding in 2 weeks. I found a wicked cute Polo dress shirt on sale. Rock on. I think Ralph has designed the Polo line for my HG exclusively. It fits him perfectly. Every time. And makes him look just ever so cute. Seriously. I love a man in a suit. But I think I love men in Polo even better. Yum.

And you know, it's not fair that he gets a new shirt and I get nothing. He doesn't even care about clothes. Much. He does like it when I dress well. And he likes it when I think he looks good. But for the most part, he doesn't care much. When we met he wore black shirts and jeans. Exclusively. Black polo shirts (not the Ralph kind...the cotton collar kind), black t-shirts, black sweatshirts, black coat. On our first date, he wore his "best" black t-shirt. He was proud of himself for wearing his best shirt for me. He is such a boy. I do have to give him credit for going with black. At least he always matched. I have since fixed his color problem. He even has a pink shirt. Oh yeah baby. And plenty of shirts with actual buttons. He is practically a supermodel.

But unlike him, I actually like clothes. Scratch that. I love clothes. I only wish I could afford the clothes I love. Well, first I wish they made the clothes I love in my size. If they came in my size, I suppose I could afford most of them. I'm not a label whore. I like quality, well tailored clothes. But I'm not about to spend $98 on a Lacoste shirt. Even that tiny little alligator isn't worth almost $100. (I think. These are largely the things I tell myself to talk myself out of buying $100 glorified t-shirts. Karma points baby.) However, I do wish I had the body to dress better. I just feel that at my current weight, well tailored clothes are wasted. Like, why bother? Besides, my waist size fluctuates so much, it's not worth spending a lot of money on clothes. I would be impressed if you could find any item in my closet that cost more than $40 (Stacey, Clinton: call me). Some day I will spend too much money for a polo shirt. But it'll fit for a long, long time.

In the meantime, I'm a bargain shopper. And I didn't think it was fair that the HG got a new shirt and I didn't get anything. So after I chose his wicked cute shirt, I headed upstairs to the fatty section of Macy's. (The escalator was broken. I did the stairs. whoo hooo!) Oh, can someone explain to me why Macy's hides their fatties behind the bras? What's that about? Seriously. Michael Kor's has a plus size line. You can't hide us forever. For one, we're pretty big and therefore hard to hide. But more than that. The average American women is a size 14. What sense does it make to hide the clothes half of us need? That's just silly. The first time I shopped in that particular Macy's, I left angry, thinking they didn't have a plus size section. (No, I didn't make any sales girls cry...that was a completely different Macy's. I think I have a Macy's problem.) I stumbled upon it a year later while looking for the outwear section. Makes sense. Hide the fatties under a coat.

So, upstairs I went. And it was like shopping heaven. Those little white "sale" signs were everywhere. It would have been rude not to at least try things on. I mean, they went through all the trouble of marking everything down. I should be grateful for the work they did. Plus, if I spend money, I'm doing my part to stimulate the economy. And stimulate the economy I did. I found three of the most adorable dresses ever. And they all make me look so thin. Well, thin is a stretch. But they make me look not fat. Oh, and I found a $130 jacket for $25. Oh yeah. Shop with me. Deals find me. I'm a sale magnet.

Anyway, when I got home, I had nothing to do. I did, after all, do two full trips around the mall (3 miles, thank you very much.), as well as, three loads of laundry this morning. So, in keeping with my love of movies, I popped Evan Almighty into the DVD player. Ok, not the best example Hollywood has to offer. And certainly not a shining example for ethics training. But one line stuck with me.

In the movie, Evan's wife prays for their family to become closer. Evan prays for help in changing the world (I know, nutrasweet on film). And just when everything seems to be at the very worst it can possibly be (Evan is suspended from Congress and his wife left him), God has a conversation with Evan's wife. And he says to her, "If you pray for your family to be closer, does God make your family closer or does He give you an opportunity to make you family closer?"

Um. Huh. I've been praying for patience and understanding for years. And I have no more understanding and no more patience then I did two years ago. Some days, I think my patience has worn even more thin. I lie in bed at night and just think about how it would feel to be pregnant (again. This time for keepers). I think obsessively about my friends who are pregnant. How do they feel? What does it feel like? What goes through your mind when you see your baby's (your baby!!) heartbeat on the ultrasound for the first time? The second time? The third time? Does it get progressively more exciting? Less exciting? What does honest to goodness morning sickness feel like? What about the nursery. How will I paint it? How does it feel to shop for your own baby?

So no, I can't say that I've gotten any more patient than I was two years ago when we started. I think I might seem more patient. I have days where I actually have good humor about it all. Where it doesn't bother me for every second of the day. But it's a forced patience. It's not real. I'm patient because I have to be. I don't have a choice. I'm not pregnant and I can't make myself be pregnant. So I have no choice. I have to be patient and take one day at time.

As for understanding. I don't. I don't know if I ever will. Maybe someday I will. But right now, not a single iota.

But you know. I've been praying for it. And perhaps, just perhaps, my prayers are being answered. I want patience. So I'm getting an opportunity to be patient. I've prayed for understanding. So I'm getting an opportunity to understand. Ok. I can do that. I can learn from this. Really, I can.

And in the meantime, I can look at all the good things that have happened to me (and the HG...I'm not exactly alone in my struggle) in the past two years. We both got promotions at work. We moved to an adorable new apartment. We didn't buy two money pits....and we dodged one of the money pits twice (Long story. Let's just say our housing angels must be exhausted.) We were able to spend more money than I'd like to fix one of our cats who was sick (poor babygirl!). We've paid off all of our consumer debt and most of my student loans. We've been able to travel at whim, buy new computers when we need them (um, for me, this is virtually never. The HG has a computer problem similar to my shoe problem.), and sleep till 10 on the weekends if we want. So you know, I might not have a baby, but maybe when we do, we'll be more prepared. Who knows.

Maybe this is what patience looks like.