Things are
looking up. Not only am I now caught up on both Girls and the Bachelor (yeah, I’m a sophisticated lawyer who watches the
Bachelor, what of it?) is Congress making moves toward immigration reform
and gun control, but check this out: the smart, witty, feminist ladies over at A Practical Wedding/Reclaiming Wife (because “reclaiming marriage” just
sounds homophobic), have kindly posted one of my sassy musings ramblings
on trying to conceive.
And, notwithstanding
the morbidity
of my last posts
(really, I’m okay guys, no need to remove the sharp objects), I’m ready for
another go at all of this. I still need the green light from the reproductive
endocrinologist next week, but here’s hoping that lucky-number-round-three of
Clomid is right around the corner. Honestly, I have never been so physically
and emotionally ready for hot flashes and, you know, being kind of a bitch (nostalgia is, apparently, a very distorting force).
Hope you’ll join
me for the next installment of this wild ride.
It’s possible that I was a little bit of a bitch
this week. There. I said it. And I’m just going to own it blame it all
on the hormones coursing through my body. I was basically just a bitch sort
of snappy when I could have been patient; a bit judgmental when I should have
been loving. I saw it and yet, I was completely powerless to stop it. It’s an eerie out of body experience – especially given that I am
usually such a bright, cheery, kind and generous person.
If I were being thoughtful about this, if I wasn’t using
such foul language, I think I
would say that it’s more of a “second-cycle-funk” (that’s a thing, right?).
It’s not that I feel angry or resentful at not being with child. As much as I adore that
phrase, and as much as I planned to relentlessly deny embrace those feelings, they’re just not
here. I’m still decidedly not at the point where the fertility clinic waiting
room sign – The presence of children may
make other patients uncomfortable. Please make arrangements for them before
coming.
– applies to me (and dear-omnipotent-presence-if-you-do-exist-in-whatever-form,
let me never get to that place and in the meantime, let me be kind to those who
have). In fact – shock of the interwebs – I’m still genuinely happy to receive
baby announcements. It’s just that I don’t know what the future holds
and this leaves me feeling astonishingly, breathtakingly, staggeringly ANXIOUS. Which, in turn, leads me to express my apprehension
in negative ways be a bitch.
So, I’m working on it. I think it’s
in check now – much more so when I feed it cookies and let it watch Portlandia.
In the meantime, I’m embracing my hormonal instability. Because, you guys: bitches get stuff done.
