Today, I feel like a barren old hag.
I've been on one hell of an emotional roller coaster lately, and really all I can do is observe and report. I feel like I have no control over inner workings - I am just a passenger here.
Yes, we are still thrilled to be finally moving forward with adoption. No, adoption is not some magical cure for my grief. We always planned on adding to our family through adoption, regardless of my failure as a woman. I'm still going to start clomid next cycle, but really I've lost all faith that we'll be able to produce our own spawn.
The final push to this long downward roll came when I learned last week that Hubby's brother, along with his wife and new baby (AKA PIG), will be visiting in two weeks. Hubby's parents are planning a big to-do, so the whole family can meet the baby, the first grandchild. Or, more accurately, the first grandchild to survive pregnancy, but whatever - it's not as if they ever acknowledge our losses.
Enter old hag.
I felt physically ill at the thought of having to spend time in the company of fertiles and young children and babies. My heart started racing. I started sweating and felt nauseous and immediately weighed down like someone had placed an iron yoke around my neck. It's been there ever since.
My mind ran to the crazy - how can I get out of showing up? Can I break my leg? Get hit by a car? Stick a pencil in my eye? Perhaps I can manage to get bit by an animal at work that day. I have to do something, though - I do think I might actually have a breakdown if I'm forced to go. I'm too raw right now. I can't bring myself to hear everyone ruminate on who the baby resembles, or to see Hubby holding his niece and being tender and sweet. Little knives, right to my heart. What kind of person reacts this way to such a wonderful family event? A fucking horrible barren old hag, to be sure.
The timing of the party will be horrendous in another way. My body - my crazy, crazy body - is getting ready to pop out an eggy already. I find it absolutely amazing that my lady parts are always ready to go so soon after a loss. It's been less than two weeks, for Christ's sake! So, do the math, my friends: yep, that's right, I'll be having a visit from Aunt Flo that weekend, or close enough. I'll also, possibly, be on clomid for the first time and discovering the wonders that little pill will inflict. Yay.
More little knives - this time around, nobody gets it. I think the two people closest to me - mom and Hubby - are frankly sick of dealing with mood swings and weird unexpected grief moments. They think I should just suck it up and deal with it, go to the party and keep my mouth shut about my own personal hell. Or better yet - mom thinks I should, if I can't go, write a letter to BIL and his wife explaining my absence. Sure, I'll just bare my own dark soul for people I hardly know to see.
I'm ready for the next up on this ride, although I know it'll be followed far too quickly by a down.