Time to Face Facts

Many people have assumed that since I haven't posted a new blog in so long it was because I was pregnant. They assumed wrong. The truth is, there hasn't been anything to post. Every month is the same old thing. We do it. We do it again. And again and again... for nothing!

March 1 marked an official year of trying. Looking back on this past year, I'm pretty proud of how we've handled all of this. There haven't been any huge meltdowns, we don't hate our pregnant friends and family members (though I can't stand the pregnant meth addicts I see on my commute to work each morning..) and we have actively stayed positive each month. But you can't ignore that a year of trying is a long time.

Most annoying is that over the course of the year there were many times when even though I was really irritated with B for some reason or another, I shtupped him anyway because I was ovulating. Which meant he won whatever argument we were having at the time. In fact, he knew he could do no wrong on those days and cashed in. "Oh, I haven't weeded the backyard like I said I would do three weeks ago? What are you going to do about it today?" "Oh, you're upset that I played Playstation all night and didn't acknowledge your existence? Sure you want to fight about it today?" I hate to admit it, but I can't blame him because I would do the same thing.

I had been artfully avoiding my Gyno's office hoping that instead of just going in for a yearly exam it would be a pregnancy appointment, too. But by March 1 I had to face facts. I wasn't pregnant and my Gyno's office was getting more incessant about my scheduling an appointment. There must be gold down there because I've never known anyone to be so determined to get to my hoo-ha. Eventually, I sucked it up and scheduled my appointment for the middle of March. I was about to hang up with the perky receptionist when she asked if I was having any issues I wanted to discuss with the doctor. There was a long pause before I could choke out the words, "infertility." "What?" replied the receptionist, "I can't hear you." "umm," I said, "I think -" sobs spilling out - "I think I'm infertile" WAH WAH WAH. I tried to stifle my cries and mop up the river of snot working it's way down my shirt and waited for the receptionist to offer some of the words of encouragement and comfort she must dispense daily to crazy people like myself. Instead, she answered as chirpy as ever, "Okay, see you in two weeks from today!" Click.

When did it come to this? For a year, I've been strong. The first one with a joke and a prayer. What happened to me?

Two weeks later, my craziness was further confirmed when I sat in the doctor's waiting room with tears spilling out faster than I could mop them up, watching all the preggos walk past me to the check-in on the other side of the room.

I just want to sign in on the other side of the room, damnit!!!!