Tempering

It is so hard to be me. Not really. I’m just making fun of myself. It’s quite simple really: get up and go to work, do not say what I really think (my personal thoughts are often not interpreted as genuine customer service), do my job, come home, stare at some homework (accomplish the minimum), pet each dog (equal time is a must), feed self, affirm C in some way, and crawl into bed to do it all over again tomorrow. I forgot the sex without consequences part—there is that on special occasions. Yeah, I’m a little bored and burnt out – is it obvious?

This weekend I did our finances. Totally and completely. Everything from 2008 is filed, in chronological order and tabbed, in a gigantic D-ring notebook. Expenses are tallied in a super cool excel spreadsheet (thanks to K for the template I never could have come up with!). It is all supposed to make answering the question of “where is all of this money going?” easier to answer. Unfortunately, this money is going into our mouths. I watched our Eating Out tallies grow and tried not to puke a little in my mouth (it would probably be the Chipotle from night previous and since we already spent that money, it might as well stay down and try to nourish my body). What I mean is that it was sickening that hundreds of dollars a month go towards a pop, McDonald’s (I wouldn’t be caught dead there – they might serve me as a quarter pounder), Chipotle, or a stupid salad (albeit tasty, so very tasty). That is going to stop – as in I refuse to eat out with two exceptions: special night with the husband or the only way I can see a friend. C is going to get an allowance, or if that sounds too juvenile, a weekly or monthly budget – I haven’t decided yet. There are other places to cut back: use less water, electricity, gas. Hundreds of dollars of fuel per month may not be a lifestyle so much as an option that we need to seek an alternative to. I did have an idea that this was coming and have done small things over the last month, namely cut way back on Target trips (never seem to leave there without spending $40-$80) and stop buying books (school is the only exception but they tell me that libraries are a great place to get books). I need to do more – we need to do more. And we will. A few thousand dollars worth of medical bills are going to be coming down the pipes in the next month or three and we need to be prepared to pay them. Can you even imagine how irate I will be if we can’t afford treatment because of too many quarter pounders? Don’t ask. At least my downfall is a good grocery store salad bar. It has the premise of healthy.

I’m in a doubtful place. Currently just waiting for something that I am sure will occur any day now so that we can get this show on the road. So that I can be one of two poster children of IF: either the first shot IUI success or the friend who is on IUI #5 and still hopeful because all the previous attempts failed. You realize that since we introduced an actual procedure and protocol into the try for baby this month that there is no longer a positive or negative pregnancy test at the end (actually, there is no pregnancy test at all because there is a likely occurrence of a false positive due to the HCG shot I will receive to signal the follicles to release an egg(s)). There is only success and failure. And while I am okay with bringing you all along on this journey, you have to be prepared, just like we are, for a failure. Inside of your heads, of course, because I don’t need any more doubts in my doubtful place. Please don’t think me mean or cruel for pointing this out, because I do this for your sake as much as mine. For none of you (I hope to God) will ever know this disappointment as it happens again and again, but I am aware of the sympathy and empathy floating around out there. So, you must be aware.

Despite residing on Doubtful Circle, Front Porch, Alabama, currently, don’t mistake doubt for lack of hope and excitement. I am still very hopeful and excited. Even with a 10-12% success rate with the way we are conducting this cycle, I think that sooner or later (if conception really is a game of odds and not chance) the odds have to be in our favor. Even the intricacies of this cycle’s protocol have me thrilled. Do you realize that I have an actual task from cycle day one to cycle day thirteen? I get to be doing something and occupied. Yeah, the two week wait will be sort of awful, but I don’t have to think about it until it is actually upon us and everything else that will ensure conception has been accomplished. For anyone else who has tried their best to schedule sex around “fertile” times, do you know what a relief this is? The whole process is practically taken out of my hands. Surprisingly, I am grateful and relieved about all of that. And above all else, there is a PLAN. This cycle either succeeds or fails, but then there is next cycle, possibly a third, and then trying something new. This really does constitute a plan for me, for us. About the PLAN alone, I am incredibly happy. About the increased chances of creating life and carrying life to term to get a squishy baby, I am ecstatic. But as a form of self-preservation, I have to remain incrementally doubtful. Otherwise my world shatters when this cycle fails and I know from personal experience how long it takes to pick up those pieces. Believe me; you can’t even hire someone to do it for you. All you are capable of doing is picking up each piece, one by one, letting them stab you and draw blood, while placing them in your basket and hoping that magic elves will come and make them whole again before you slowly bleed to death.