Day 273. The Referal.

After spending months googling "cervix position," "basal body thermometer," "irregular menstrual cycle."
After letting the internet sell me a saliva ferning microscope and ovulation predictor kit test strips.
After reading that Toni Weischler book cover-to-cover.
After holding my bladder an extra three minutes so I could temp before getting out of bed.
After becoming skillful with a vaginal speculum.
After staring and staring and staring at my charts.

After congratulating every other young lady in my "newly married" couples bible study.
After pretending I'm not jealous.
After strolling isles of the Babies 'R Consumers" store.
After creating my baby registry, and moving the due date back, and back, and back.

After two false alarms.
After six unpredictable cycles, and nine empty months.
After giving up on the layette set I had started.
After pushing back plans. Another month. Another month.
After working up the nerve to invite a friend out for coffee to discuss this.

I never wanted to join this group.
I never wanted to make a folder for this category in my feed reader.
I never wanted to decide who to share this with, and who not to.
I never wanted to inform myself about the religous perspectives of various treatments.

I got the referral today. Bloodwork, ultrasound, infertility clinic. Here we go.

Please, Lord. Please. You know my heart.

42 days

Dear God,

I am so tired. Do I do this to myself? I can't sleep. Or is it I don't sleep? I don't know.
Will I pass this on to my children? Is this genetic or am I causing my own exhaustion? My mind has always been my worst enemy.

It's always been my mind that betrays me, not my body. This is new and it's hard to take. I'm not pregnant. Again. Another false postive. This hurts. I'm ready, my body is not.

I don't want to learn the TTC acronyms. I don't want to read up on IF blogs.

I don't want to keep working on that layette for my friend's baby.

I don't want to bother my husband with all of this. He's got enough to deal with without worrying about babies that don't exist.

My cycle is long. I don't get 12 chances a year, I get 8. Eight opportunities to get it right. Eight is nice, but they are so far apart. I can accept that it's not gonna be this cycle, Its the waiting that is getting to me. Now I have to wait til the next one. 42 days later.

I should be gracious. 42 days to do something other than be pregnant. But. What. Else. Is. There?

work
get a side job (stay busy!)
do craft stuff
decorate for Christmas
redecorate
clean the house
walk

I need to get over the fact that "I was supposed to be pregnant by now." I finished school on my schedule, I married on my own timeline, bought a car, paid off my loans, all according to plan.

I need a new plan. Something to do this year other than "get pregnant." Something to do for those other 42 days.

Give Me Back My Voice!

Hello, and welcome!

I am a blogger. I love blogging. I have a personal blog with my name and face and a flickr account with photos attached. I have bloggy friends who cheer me on and do not judge me. I have an audience and get picked up by google for use of several keywords.

I can't blog there any more. That blog has become a place were my MIL, coworkers, and friends check up on me. I can't sit down to write what is on my mind, because I will be forever judged. That space has become a glorified meme-fest.

I have lost my voice.
I am taking back my tongue.

I'm so tired of keeping quiet about:

• The Things I Can Not Say At a Dinner Party.
• I'm trying to have a kid. - I need help, but I need my family to not bug me about it.
• My Mother Is Mentally Ill. She gets to own that and choose when she talks about it. I have to pretend it doesn't exist, so that she can have that control.
• I live daily with depression, insomnia and anxiety.
• I am a Christian. I am also too much of a coward to deal with that in public.
• I doubt my faith in God. Some days.
• I have an advanced degree that I am afraid to use.

I have a very supportive husband, who knows about this space, but has never seen it. I need this space to be for me.