It’s a two-post kind of day. While I’m over the moon happy about sleep, I’m also struggling through a dark, twisty place.
I had thought I would be over the pangs of anger and jealousy once my baby was here. But I’m not. I really hope I can find a therapist soon and try to work through this. Any time I bring it up to the Professor it ends in yelling and snide comments about how “it takes us having sex to get pregnant.” I’m sorry
ass-hat husband, things are dry as a desert down there and I feel about as sexy as a sack of potatoes. I also have not had a natural period in 15 years so I’m pretty darn sure the odds are not in our favor. How about you use your snazzy Ph.D. math skillz to figure the probability? A better response to my sadness might be a hug, a kind reminder to look at the beautiful baby we are blessed with and a promise to stick with me no matter how dry and dusty the desert gets before the magical doctors find the right science cocktail to make me feel halfway like a woman.
Friends are starting on their second and third babies now. The other day I went with a friend to CVS to buy a glue stick for crafts and a pee stick. She joked about how back in the day she would only by FRER tests, but now she is just fine with the cheap-o ones. She continued to tell me how it is sooner than they had planned for baby No. 2 but they did not mind. Bring on the babies! I laughed and cheered her on. Inside I was filled with the rage.
Another friend has been bitching about her period and her cramps. I have no sympathy. I have not had a natural, non-chemically induced period since I was a freshman in college. That is 18 years old, ladies. I am now 33. Most of the time my birth control cycles didn’t even produce a period. I never had a period after my miscarriage. Then people have the nerve to tell me I’m “lucky.” No. I’m not lucky. Not cycling is BAD for you. Not having the proper hormones is BAD for for you. Not cycling means you never get that lovely juicy estrogen surge each month when you actually want to have sex. Not having a period means things are so out of whack you don’t produce your own lube and have to pause when the moment is hot to rub some on. Sexy I tell ya. Nothing is GOOD about my situation. Nothing.
Our Nanny, who is kind and truly has no idea the hell we went through to have Sabine, asked when we would have another. I simply said there will not be another baby, that Sabine is it for us. She laughed and told me to just wait until Sabine started asking for a baby. She told me about her oldest begging and pleading for a sibling so she eventually had another baby. She told me how thrilled her oldest was to be a big sister. I left the house for class 10 minutes after this conversation and cried on the train. I was totally that weird woman.
I’m angry that I don’t have periods. I’m angry that more infertility treatment is not an option for us (we are tapped out financially. Please do not lecture me about how we could save/take loans/find the money. We do not have it. End of story.) I’m angry I will never buy pregnancy tests again. I’m angry my child will not have the joy of telling her friends that she will be a big sister. I’m angry that my child will never have the strong sibling bond that I share with my brother. I’m angry that I have to return to the doctor once she weans to go on some kind of hormone replacement therapy so I don’t get cancer because my uterine lining NEVER sheds.
I am angry that I can’t just be normal.
I am angry that this now parenting after infertility blog is still receiving posts tagged with “infertility.”