Saturday started innocently enough with breakfast and four hours of marathon sewing to finish a dress. At 11 a.m. I jumped in the shower to get ready for a birthday party. Not just any party, though, a party for the adorable two year-old who belongs to our dear friends, now pregnant with No. 2.
Their pregnancy starts the next wave of folks getting knocked up. People who were childless when we started this journey are now announcing second pregnancies, or “confiding” in me their carefully timed intercourse (wink wink, nudge nudge!).
Pardon me while I get all “Woe is Belle” on your ass. We have been at this trying to make a baby thing for 20 months now. Do you know how many times I have been able to legitimately pee on a pregnancy test in those 20 months? Four.
Yeah, you read that correctly. There are no natural cycles for she who does not ovulate. One failed Clomid cycle, two failed IUIs and one IVF that got me a first class ticket to a D&C are the only chances I have had to take a pregnancy test. After the D&C the Professor and I took some time off – no birth control or hormones and hunkered down to await the fabled post D&C miracle ovulation. Despite obsessive excursions to my nether regions in search of the fabled fertile cervical mucus and a whole lot’a OPKs no ovulation came.
Back to Saturday.
While driving to the party the Professor and I shared a chocolate bar and talked about how hard this was for us both. It is very rare that I see this side of my husband. More often than not he is detached from our infertility. “If it happens, great! If not, we’ll move on,” he tells me. I lay awake at night wondering how he could be so cold to the situation. And then something like a child’s birthday happens and I see that this tough-guy is just a mask. I saw his eyes glass over while our friends sang Happy Birthday and proudly presented their son with a huge cake and I noticed his hand tighten around mine.
And then I lost it. I had to excuse myself to go to the bathroom, claiming an allergy attack, so I could let it out in private. You know what is worse than a negative pregnancy test? You know what hurts more than seeing an ultrasound without a heartbeat? Realizing how fucking much your husband wants what you can not give him. I know the Professor is a good, loving man who won’t leave me for more fertile soil, but that does not change my pain.
We got home around 4 p.m. and sat at the table to flip through the mail. A new CB2 catalog, which is always exciting for me, a Harbor Freight flier which is always exciting for him, and a white envelope addressed to me. Inside was the bill for our D&C.
Today is the final day of CarbFest, also known as the 10 day progesterone challenge to start a period. More on this tomorrow.