let the darkness in...

I have noticed over the past several months that my dark days arrive with a pattern. Usually they are tied to the imminent arrival of the crimson tide. I can be positively sunny and upbeat one day, and feeling the depths of despair the next. I lose perspective, and the ability to evaluate a situation with any intelligence.

Right now, things just seem insurmountable. The housework is piling up. The yardwork is out of control. The bills that need to be paid before we can start saving for adoption scare the shit out of me. I mourn the relationships that I have let fail. The fact that am probably not pregnant this month, and I probably will never be again, makes me wish desperately that my husband would leave me and find a happy life with someone else. The first baby who would have been approaching four - FOUR! - years old (you know, if my body didn't kill him) haunts me.

Right now, today, I feel as if everything is falling apart and I will never be enough, not in any way.

I didn't feel this way yesterday, and I know that soon, things will look up (I hope).

But right now, I don't want this life.

the darnedest things

The scene: that backseat of my friend's minivan, about to be dropped off for a girls' evening of fun. My friend's cute little boy is keeping me company. We're chatting about, well, whatever the hell a five year old in a minivan talks about.

And then he says, "You know, Wifey, I really wish you had kids so that when I come over I'd have someone to play with."

And I say, "But we have dogs. You always like to play with our dogs."

His reply: "I know, but dogs aren't kids. They're just not."



Don't I know it, kid.

the rapist strikes again

Hubby and I had our first joint therapy appointment last night. I'm trying to be open to the whole process, but I just don't know if I am a good fit for therapy.

I did feel a real connection to our therapist, Dr. A. She was funny at times, and used profanity in a way that made me smile. She also agrees that my husband's parents are fucked up.

I think that she'll try to convince me to medicate. She thinks I'm depressed, and a shell of a person. I think I laugh a hell of a lot for a depressed shell, but maybe I'd be Tina Fey if I medicated. Honestly, if medical marijuana were legal here I'd rather smoke the occasional joint when feeling down than pop a pill every day and risk turning into a zombie. I really really really really really really don't want to take antidepressants.

Dr. A did note that, despite the rollercoaster to hell we've been on, it is clear that we love each other deeply, and that we're best friends. That was reassuring - to hear from a professional that my fuckedupness hasn't completely ruined our marriage makes me feel like less of a failure.

We'll see how it all turns out. Our next step is in a couple of weeks: we'll have individual sessions, and then another joint session to decide how to proceed.

Anywho, in other news, the two week wait has begun. This is the third to last 2ww for me (for the forseeable future). The thought of not trying anymore scares the shit out of me. I don't really know how to turn off that part of me that is hyperaware of my cycles and fertility signs and possible pregnancy signs. I don't know who I am anymore when not wrapped up in trying to reproduce, and obsessing over what I can put in my body to help me reproduce.

I guess that's what Dr. A meant when she called me a shell.

invisible

No cards.
No flowers.
No "Happy Mother's Day" greetings.
No hugs.
No mention of my dead babies.


I am invisible, unloved, marginalized, forgotten.

Mother's Day can suck it.

flip flop

Including this month, I have three months left on femara.

And then, interwebs, when my body fails yet again to produce a viable pregnancy - as it surely will - I do believe we'll be taking a big long break from this whole baby making thing to seriously pursue adoption.

I've flip flopped so much about this, and may again, but I need to be moving forward, striving towards some kind of happiness. And while I know the road to a successful adoption can be bumpy as hell (and let's face it, with my luck it probably will be) if it's not my own personal failure, I think I can probably handle it.

Miscarriage after miscarriage does not a happy girl make.

We think we might just be able to put together the funds by the end of 2010. It means no fun for us this summer, no trips or concerts or cute summery dresses, but I can handle that. I can.

So for the next few months I am going to be as healthy as I can be to give my body the best chance possible to do this, and then, I'll turn down that fork in the road to parenthood and leave the timed sex, fertility drugs, blood draws and dildo cams behind, at least until we recover financially and emotionally from the adoption process.

That's the plan, anyway - for now. I reserve the right to change my crazy infertile mind at any time.

I found her

Aunt Flow, that is.

I guess she just needed to fuck with me for a bit.

I'm so tired of this life: the tears, the fears, the anxiety, the dark sadness that seems like it will never end, the stab to the heart that comes with seeing a big pregnant belly. I'm worn out, used up, I have absolutely nothing left.

But you can bet your sweet bippy I'll be at Walgreen's tomorrow picking up more Femara and folic acid. 

It's a sickness, I tell ya.

How to grow time.... infertile style

Hey there fellow IFers!

Do you find that there aren't enough hours in the day?

Does staring at pee sticks and contemplating when to have sex interfere with your jobs and household duties?

Do you ever wish you simply had more time to dream up imaginary pregnancy symptoms?

Well, step right up, because I've got the solution for you!






Listening to your fertile friends discuss IN GRAPHIC DETAIL the births of their five collective children is a sure fire way to make 2 hours stretch into a time warp that feels like two years!

I guarantee it.


Man, I really need more infertile friends in real life.

waiting

Aunt Flow is playing games with me again.

Today is 14dpo, and I keep awaiting her knock on the door.

But there is no sign of the bitch, and my hpt was stark white today. I think I even heard it say, "Move along, nothing to see here" as I searched under the brightest lights possible for the hint of a line.

I am NEVER late, but I guess my body just keeps the surprises coming.

If you see Aunt Flow hanging around, give her the Stockton Heybuddy for me.