Another TMI post. You've been warned.
Dear Everyone I Know,
Please, for the love, won't you please stop asking me if/when Husband and I are having more children?
Number one, it's none of your damn business.
Number two, it's kind of a sensitive topic right now.
For over a year (and especially since May), I feel like I've not been living an actual life, but living by days in a menstrual cycle.
Day one: mark the calendar
Day three-seven: take medication
Day ten-eighteen: urinate on a stick.
Positive stick: mark the calendar.
Day 21-23: blood drawn
Day 24-27: head to the doctor to be poked and prodded and stared at in a confused manner and asked if I was sure I'd counted right because-I-should-be-pregnant-by-now. And then told that fingers-crossed-that-day-one-doesn't-come-when-it's-supposed-to.
I leave feeling sad, frustrated, so bloody tired...
Then when Day 1 comes like clockwork it's like...I don't even know.
Infuriating. Disappointing. Exhausting.
I wonder if I should just give up because obviously this is not working and besides, I'm tired of the stupid medicine making me mean and causing me to faint at the gym (twice, thank-you-very-much).
I wish I were five years younger so I didn't feel so frantic.
Everyone always tells me that so-and-so had babies when they were whatever-age.
And I just want to punch them in the face.
The good news is that other people being pregnant doesn't bother me as much as you might think.
Because let's be honest, pregnancy s-u-c-k-s, and I don't envy that.
Please don't ask.