I have entered the Two Week Wait after round two of Clomid. Much as was the case with Clomid Round One, I am convinced that this is hopeless. Past performance being a indicative of future results, and all that jazz. Of course, it isn’t like I think there is anything else that will work better… Mostly, its something I feel compelled to do so that at least I know I tried. [She says as she collapses on the couch Sarah-Bernhardt style.]

Which sorta brings me to the point of this post. I am a HUGE Debbie Downer these days. Holy bejeezus, I can’t even handle myself at times. It isn’t just this whole infertility thing. Objectively speaking, I’m in a Polar Vortex of Sad Face right now. I shall roughly list them, in no particular order.

1) My mom is still in the hospital, and will likely be there through the end of the year. She is FINALLY being moved from the ICU and can now be spoon fed applesauce. This is an improvement, no doubt. But it also highlights how very deeply she was affected by her medical injuries.

2) This entire sitch in turn lead some of my family members to say and do hurtful things. I don’t trust them right now with my own feelings, because they are not respectful of them. Which sucks, because normally I like my family a lot.

3) My sister, who is perhaps the only person who isn’t annoying the shitballs out of me right now, was recently diagnosed with an autoimmune disease.

4) There has been a significant amount of death around me lately. Mothers of two of my good friends died in the last 8 months. An old friend committed suicide last month.

If there was ever reason for a hearty round of “WTF, UNIVERSE?!” , I think I’ve found them all.

But where am I going with all this? I’m trying to give myself the space to feel genuinely crappy. Not wallowing, but honoring that this stuff stinks and it is okay for it to make me sad. Real sad. Watching-What-Not-To-Wear-Reruns-While-Eating-Nutella-From-A-Jar Sad.

But I’m also trying to make room for things I am grateful for. So, in the interest of equilibrium, I shall now list the things in my sad puddle of a life that bring me joy.

1) My heart, my lungs, and my awesome quads. I run 3-4 times a week, and every morning when I’m running through my neighborhood, I’m so happy and proud that my body is strong.

2) Food. I love eating. This weekend, I had an amazing hamburger. Yesterday, we celebrated my husband’s birthday with cake (which is really just a vehicle for frosting. Everyone knows it.)

3) Middlemarch. When picking what to read next, I intentionally looked for something 600 pages and over because I wanted to get lost for a while. It’s like the thinking woman’s romance novel- no heaving bosoms, just long, furtive glances and ennui.

4) Mr. Ostrich. I like him an awful lot. This weekend, we cuddled on the couch watching Mr. Selfridge. I think I’ll keep him.



One comment

  1. bionicbrooklynite · April 16, 2014

    Not-wallowing never leaves me feeling any better, no matter what those chipper articles say. There’s something to be said for being sad about sad things. In truth, I think the “just be happy” advice is mostly about not making people uncomfortable. Which is good up to a point, but come on.

    Glad Mr. Ostrich is such a keeper. He struck even cynical me as a very good egg.


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