This post was
going to be about how the Clomid is working so
effing well that I am forever crying – into my granola and my sandwich and my
heaping pile of cookies salad and
every other foodstuff I happen to have immediately in front of me because: HUNGRY.
This post was going
to be about how THIS
made me cry weep and how the
season finale of THIS made me
sob because I inexplicably have a thing for Adam even though he’s a creepy
boar with irreverent facial hair and all of the other mouth crying[1]
I have engaged in over the last oh, I don’t know, 96 god-for-saken hours.
This post was
going to be about how one evening I wrote my hypothetical, as yet
unconceived gender non-specific child’s name (first, last and middle, ahem) and
then started crying. (But that sounded
much too dark so I decided not to tell you guys even though, seriously, it
wasn’t really that grim.)
I was going to
write about all of these things, I was. But a post devoted to my blubbering lamentations[2]
is a pity party to which no one else should be invited.
So despite what
you may have just read, supra, I did
not write this post. Because I could not. Because the thing is, I’m not actually
particularly sad – mom, put down the
phone. I actually feel pretty good, rather even keeled you might say, despite my intermittent sniveling. I
have just traded in my bitch card[3]
for my burst-into-tears-at-the-mention-of-the-air-we-breathe card. It’s a
precarious existence I inhabit.
But no matter,
for I know that soon, my sniveling will give way to unhinged panic, which is where
I really shine. In the meantime, I am buoyed by Rosey Grier[4].
[1] Mouth crying gets a nod on day 8 of every cycle. Because them’s the rules (apparently).
[2] Jessie Spano in, oneofthebestcryingscenesever.
[3] It’s like
a trading card, but with Tina Fey on one side and Hillary Clinton on the
other/a motto like “women make policy and humor, not coffee” in electric green
typeface and then, umm <insert something about feminism and “reclaiming
bitch,” etc.>.
[4] True facts about the ineffable Rosey
Grier in addition to his cameo on the record that defined your childhood: he is
a former bodyguard to RFK who enjoys macramé and needlepoint. Truth.
