#Microblog Mondays: Tears

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Infertility has given me a lot of reasons to cry, yet I don’t. Why that is, I do not know.

They threaten to appear, sometimes with the tightness in my chest, sometimes with the chokehold on my throat. Other times they make it all the way to the rims of my eyelids but they do not fall. I don’t blink them away, or swallow them down, sometimes they would be a welcome release. A much needed outlet of emotion.

They come in unexpected waves, rising up at an unexpected turn, but never do they fall from my eyes and roll down my cheeks. Perhaps they’re waiting for the day when they can be happy tears instead.

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Bitter is the New Black

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I totally stole that title from a book by Jen Lancaster (hilarious by the way). But it is pretty on point with how I’m feeling right now. My pregnant best friend came over today with her little boy to have a quick visit and borrow some luggage from me for her upcoming trip to Mexico. This is only the second time I’ve seen her since she told me she is pregnant. She is now 15 weeks along. It just seems like her pregnancy is racing along at lightning speed.

The last time we got together we did some shopping, had lunch and took her little guy to “see Santa”. Literally, we just looked at Santa. Her little guy is in a stranger danger age and apparently would have freaked out if we would have popped him up on Santa’s lap. But in any case, there were distractions, and Christmas was coming so we didn’t talk too much about her being pregnant, and she didn’t ask about our (in)fertility treatments.

Fast forward to today, and it’s just the three of us. While she was trying to visit and stop her son from getting into everything we had some idle chit chat. I asked her about her pregnancy, but not right away. I really didn’t want to ask at all, but I figured that would be a bitchy thing for me to do. She did not ask me about treatment, or what was going on with us. I was slightly offended but at the same time she probably thinks that I don’t want to talk to her about it anymore, which is sort of true. But it still stings that she didn’t ask, because she always used to check in, and see what was up. She would probably have been the first person I would have told once we got a positive, because she always knew when I should be testing. Not so anymore, I could probably very easily keep it from her since she doesn’t know where we’re at with our treatment.

She didn’t stay long, and I think she feels a bit awkward too. I was feeling a bit melancholy after she left, and J came home from work shortly thereafter. He asked me how our visit was, and then he asked me this gem of a question. He asked me if Best Friend and her husband were pregnant, or still trying. I must have gotten a bit shrieky because when I told him yes, they were pregnant, that I had already told him that, he got a bit defensive. I tried to tone it back from there, but reminded him that I told him several weeks ago that she was pregnant. In fact, I told him the whole story of it, recounted here in Life’s A Bitch. He seemed sort of surprised by my vehement insistence that I had already told him, and kind of shrugged and said, oh yeah maybe, I guess I forgot. Awesome, I’m glad you can just sweep that dagger under the rug. I mean, it’s not his best friend, so ok, it doesn’t hit as close to home. But I was pretty upset the night I came home and told him she was pregnant.

So, I just left it alone, and started dinner, keeping myself busy in the kitchen. J was making small talk with me while I was cooking and I was rather quiet, and not giving him much for a response. He asked what was wrong, and I replied that I was just a bit upset after seeing Best Friend. He then asked me why. Seriously. Did we not literally just have a conversation about her being pregnant? So I calmly, and slowly responded to him, “Because she is pregnant, and it is hard for me to be around her because I’m not”. To which he replied, “oh”. Men are seriously from a different planet sometimes.

I know that our situation effects (affects?) him differently, and again, it’s not his friend. But still. I felt like we are living two totally different and separate lives. This just made me even more upset, so then I am cooking dinner, stewing on the events of the day and trying not to cry in the risotto.

So paint me black, and I can live in my own dark infertile hole alone. Sorry I don’t have a lot of positivity to give towards the process lately. I promise I’ll try and be better.