I've done it - swallowed my first clomid this morning. The fact that I got it down is a feat in and of itself - I am a notoriously bad pill taker, reduced to chopping my cramp fighting ibuprophen into teeny tiny bits and feeling the jagged edges scrape down my throat. I don't think it's just psychological - though it may be - because I make the attempt to swallow whole pills regularly and usually end up with them stuck. But I'll do anything to make spawn, including swallowing clomid and ten little folic acid pills every day.
I'm sitting here waiting for some kind of womanly epiphany to descend upon my body (I'm picturing an ethereal glow, magically bigger boobies and a uterus that suddenly decides it's tired of killing babies), but so far, nothing. I am, however, talking to my ovaries and uterus like I'm a high school basketball coach for the losing team at halftime. "Come on, girls! You can do it! Make a good, quality eggy. Uterus, you get in there and start growing a nice thick lining. We can win! It's not over till it's over!"
The insanity that this mess has brought into my life - I don't think I've ever had a conversation with an organ before.
In adoption news: our trip to get the ball rolling is in 2.5 weeks. Holy crap. I want to do the happy dance every time I think about it, but then reality smacks me in the face: We have a TON of work on the house to do, and we really don't know how we're going to finance this right now. Our original plan was to scrape together all of our savings, etc, and then ask Hubby's folks for a loan to cover the rest. I don't know if it's going to go down like that, because they've been tough to deal with lately. Hubby's dad has been okay - he's usually quite understanding and non judgemental about this shit. Hubby's mom - well, she's another story. When we told her a couple of weeks ago about our latest loss, she basically said that this is god's plan for us and we should accept it. I call bullshit - if there is a god, and he/she/it really wants us to adopt, I think there's a better way to go about it than to have us experience loss after loss, heartbreak after heartbreak. A vision or something, perhaps? A booming voice declaring that we should pursue adoption full force? What kind of god wants people to suffer like we have?
She also made a point of pulling Hubby aside at the party for his niece and saying that she "hopes we can get over this." Ugh.
Speaking of the party, Hubby has declared that it was a good thing I didn't go, because he was reduced to stifling the desire to punch family members in the face as they went around declaring PIG a "miracle baby" and other such crap. Had I been there, I'd have sat in the corner crying, or downing a bottle of wine. I did cry while he was gone, but alone in my house with the curtains drawn and shitty tv on, just the way it should be.