Wednesday, my birthday, started off fairly disastrously: first, Hubby and I found ourselves locked in the house. The lock on the storm door was frozen shut, and it took us several minutes to fiddle our way out of it. Then, on our way out to the car, I tossed a trash bag into the can, and watched my piping hot, unsipped cup of coffee go flying into the can with it. We chuckled and proceeded to get on the road.
About a block or so from the house, Hubby noticed that I didn’t have a coat/hat/gloves on, and suggested that we turn around, “in case something happens with the car.” I brushed him off and suggested we just get on with our day. Fast forward to twenty minutes or so after I dropped him off, as I headed to my appointment with a sports medicine doctor: I stop at a light. The light turns green. I press on the gas. The car goes 5 mph. I press harder. Still 5mph. I turn on the flashers. People are honking behind me. I turn into a nearby parking lot and somehow have the presence of mind to coast into a spot facing out so it’ll be easier for the tow driver.
I guess Hubby should get some side work as a psychic.
Shortly after getting the car safely into the parking spot, I lost my shit. I could think of only one thing: the transmission needs to be replaced, and our fledgling adoption/IVF account is going to be wiped out. I sat there, bawling and freezing and laughing at my shitty shitty luck. After I got the tow set up, I called Hubby who then called – gasp – his mom to come get me.
She showed up a bit later, and we sat in her warm car to wait for the tow truck. I had gotten myself under control, but as we sat there, the same thoughts started running through my head and the tears once more began to fall. And, without intending to, I confided in my MIL. I told her why I was so upset. She was very nice about it, trying to be soothing. I wonder now if she feels bad about turning us down for the adoption loan, especially in light of me whining about spending all of our family building money on the car. Probably not – they seem to be particularly clueless about money and us and family building. I think they are under the impression that either we make much more than we do, or that we have much less debt than we do. Last week, they even suggested that we buy a pool table they found for $1400.00. We laughed at their ridiculousness.
After that, though, the day regained some good momentum: I was able to push my appointment back a bit, and got some answers as to why my knee has been bothering me. I went to acupuncture. I got a hair cut. I hung out with Hubby and read all of my lovely birthday messages on FB. We found out that it wasn’t the tranny at all but the battery and alternator, and the repairs cost us about ¼ what we were expecting. I got another blog award, which I will be posting about soon (thanks again!). All in all, the day ended on an okay note.
And yesterday, I went off the emotional deep end. Fucking FB. Sometimes, I wonder why I go on that site. I inadverdently discovered that my friend A, who I work with and who knows about some of our issues, is planning multiple baby showers for our friend M, none of which I have been invited to. On the one hand, I totally appreciate her leaving me out of the loop – no need to invent some crazy excuse for my absence! After all, baby showers are my kryptonite and there I no way in hell I’m going to one. On the other hand, it made me feel more like a freak. It reinforced that I am different, that I am damaged, that I am isolated in my world of grief and loss and frustration.
I also realized that I will never have that particular experience. Even if I am pregnant right now – I am 11dpo, I think – with a healthy bean my body doesn’t find some way to kill off, I will never have the baby shower. It seems like hubris, after all I have been through, to expect that my baby will be born alive and healthy and will come home before he/she actually does. Just another layer of sadness.
And then, I found out that my ex, J, knocked his girlfriend up and married her. He broke up with me to chase his dream of being a rock star. I spent the next several years building a life with Hubby, working and buying a house to raise our someday family in, trying to pay off debt and be responsible. He toured and played and wrote music, and now he gets to have everything I worked so hard for. Disclaimer: I have no feelings for this guy whatsoever. He broke my heart, but Hubby was the balm that healed it, and made me wonder why I ever had feelings for J in the first place. I’m not pining after him or anything; it just sucks monkey balls that he’s led the life he has and now gets to have a kid.
On the bright side, I got a sweet birthday package from a fellow infertility blogger. Thank you, flmgodog. You really perked up my spirits when I needed it.
Oh, and this is post 100 for me! Yay! I guess it’s fitting that it is long as fuck :)