When my eyes first blink open in the morning and I see this, it almost makes the day ahead seem tolerable. It also makes it exceedingly hard to get out of bed. Ms. B and Hunter have a love affair that their respective species would not condone- but is oh so sweet at its very foundation.
Things have been rather busy around these parts. There have been quite a few good days even. And then the walls start crumbling again. Mike and I are fighting and my libido is the culprit. Mainly because I just don't have one. Add it to the list of things infertility has taken from me. It's not good for our marriage though and I'm at a point I don't know what to do about it anymore.
In other news, I'm now at the point that I'm ready to be put back into the game. No more bench warming for me. I'm traveling the next few days so this morning I had an u/s with Dr. D to make sure I was cleared to play. And I am. Lining is nice and thick, no cysts, and my ute is gearing up for a touchdown.
I'll be harassed by TSA for carrying meds with me through security. I'll have to pull out my little letter explaining why I need to carry a bag with pointy things, tiny vials of liquid gold, and ice packs onto the plane with me. They'll yell at me from the end of the scanner and ask if I'm diabetic. Everyone will hear and I'll yell back, "No sir, I'm just infertile!" Sometimes I just like to see the looks on peoples faces.
Which leads me to my newest little anecdotal gem. See, I'm in this weird stage where I feel like I have to out myself to anyone I talk with longer than 5 minutes. I'm not sure why because the conversations *never* leave me feeling good. But anyway, I was at the hairdresser last Friday and sometime after the scalp massage and sometime before the layers were shorn, I spilled the beans to my stylist. She's 34 and though she's little Ms. Edward Sissorhands and works magic with my shiny locks, she's not the sharpest tool. And you know her advice after I went though my spiel? She said, "Well, maybe you just don't want it enough. You know, you really have to want it in order for it to work." I sat there gap-mouthed staring at myself in the mirror as she naively clipped away.
"Which way are you going to go with this Tutti?" I asked myself as my hand slipped into my purse and wrapped around the handle of the sharp fork I always carry with me for situations such as this.
Instead, I decided to challenge her logic and said, "Well, how do you explain my 2 miscarriages then? Did I only want it kinda bad so it only kinda worked or did I stop wanting it bad enough, and that's when I lost them?"
She thought for a second, tilted her head and said, "I think to finally become pregnant you have to visualize holding your baby every day or it won't work."
Stupid girl didn't even know I was fucking with her.