THE MOST IMPORTANT

See that photo in the top right-hand corner of this blog? That's the hubs and me on July 4, 2012. One year ago. This year, we had virtually the same day we had 365 days prior -- we got up early to run the Watermelon 5K, we shared a meal with Philip's family in Mount Dora, and we ambled down to the lake to enjoy the fireworks with the Hueneke clan.

It was a lovely day, but I can't help it -- my thoughts always turn to infertility at these annual events. A year later, and we're still not pregnant. I sat and watched the fireworks in 2012, thinking wistfully about how fun it would be to share this holiday with a family of our own, and I sat and watched the fireworks in 2013, thinking wistfully about how fun it would be to share this holiday with a family of our own.

I love the Fourth of July fireworks so much -- the unabashed patriotism, the long summer night, the childhood nostalgia, the sheer wonder of these artful explosions in the sky. But how many more times will I have to watch them with a quietly heavy heart?

Philip and me in 2012

Philip and me in 2013

I had Friday off too -- a last-minute surprise from my company's CEO -- but I worked all day from home anyway. I finalized my feature outline (yep, same feature I bellyached about a week ago), I caught up on emails, I worked on updating my résumé (which I hadn't touched in six years). By the end of the day, I was wracked with stress. So much remains to be done before we leave for South America in a mere nine days, both at home and at work, all under heightened pressure and major uncertainty.

While I worked inside, Philip and his brother worked out in the garage, going through their father's belongings -- a task at which they've been chipping away for over a year. It's an emotional, overwhelming endeavor, not to mention just a lot of tiring physical labor out in the Florida summer humidity.

By the end of the day, Philip and I were totally beat.

Stress is the absolute worst. It's this invisible weight, and it's inescapable. The moment I awake in the morning and remember everything that's going on, I feel dread to the point of nausea. It's terrible.

This morning wasn't any different, but Philip suggested we go for a run, and I agreed it would be a good release. But halfway through, I had another crying meltdown (par for the course these days). "Why is everything so HARD?!" I wailed like a child out in broad daylight, blowing my snotty nose into my shirt. "Running is hard! Work is hard! Trying to have a baby is hard! Preparing for Bolivia is hard! Going through your dad's stuff is hard!"

Philip was amazingly patient with and encouraging to me, and we managed to finish the workout without further incident.

We also made some major headway on Bolivia prep. We went through old letters from Carmen, our sponsored child, making notes on key people and interests in her life (conversation starters), and we brainstormed gift ideas for her and her family.

Then we went out and freaking shopped till we dropped. Like, we just crazy-shopped our brains out.

It was pretty cathartic, spending all that money. (For me at least. I think Philip was feeling a bit panicky about our upcoming credit-card statement.)

Shopping for Carmen was so very exciting. To think of things she'd like and enjoy, to imagine her pleasure at opening these gifts and using them -- painting her nails with her friends, writing about teenage crushes in a pretty journal, carrying her pink Adidas drawstring backpack to soccer practice -- made me so happy, happier than I've felt in weeks and weeks.

We went bonkers buying stuff for her because it just made me feel so good to focus our energy 100 percent on doing something special for someone we care about. It felt like we were doing something that mattered, that was pure. It was empowering and humbling; it was purposeful; it was good and right and true.

Gifts for Carmen

And unlike all the irresolution of infertility and work, it's a sure thing that on Wednesday, July 17, we will meet this girl with whom we've been corresponding for nine years, and we will get a glimpse of her day-to-day life in South America's poorest country. It's becoming real, and it's awesome. And it's so much more important than anything waiting for me in my office cubicle.

Carmen, age 7, when we first started sponsoring her in 2003

Our most recent photo of Carmen, age 16

So here I am, at 1 in the morning, thinking about what's important. (I'm wide awake because we brilliantly had Starbucks for dinner.) Being some big-shot bridal editor doesn't seem that important. Traveling to tropical islands to go snorkeling doesn't seem that important. Any job that requires extreme amounts of my time -- whether it's time away on travel or time spent continually taking on new responsibilities while never being able to shed old ones -- doesn't seem that important.
 
Starting a family seems important. And in my case, starting a family requires a lot more time, money, effort and emotional reserve than it does for 90 percent of the population.

My mom texted me yesterday: "I am feeling that when you get back from South America, you will dive into the fertility treatments again and probably have a whole new life beginning for you."

I can't even tell you the thrill that thought sent through my gut. To just pour all of my resources into the quest to build a family, to not let anything -- stress, work drama, travel -- stand in my way: What freedom! What purpose! It was the course I was on for the first half of 2013 before I got derailed, and while it seems so distant now, I want to get back on that road.

It's the most important.

I don't know the way back to that road. There are no directions; there's no clear map. But at least I know now where I need to get.

Have any of you experienced this conflict -- a job that's too demanding to coexist with fertility treatment? What did you do?