I had been in great spirits. I found out mid-January that IUI #1 failed and I had a rough couple of weeks. But by mid February I pulled out of it, determined to have a positive attitude and focus on the (multiple) good things going on in my life. I have been succeeding. I’ve been noticeably happier.
Yesterday was my first really rough day. At lunch with two co-workers, one let it slip that a mutual acquaintance is pregnant. Apparently they kept this info from me because everyone thought – correctly – that it would upset me. Why? Because this person is married to a convicted felon, known drug user and dealer, who also beats her and mentally abuses her.
Then, just when I had started feeling like my pants are looser and my belly feels a bit flatter, I weighed myself and found out I’ve gained two pounds in the past week. Ack. Not enough to depress me on its own, but yesterday it was the last straw. I got home and crawled in A’s lap and sat there for a long time.
I hope I’m done with pregnancy announcements for a while. In the past three months there have been too many that hit too closely to home. I’m tired of them. I’m tired of being around pregnant women. I can see myself slipping back into the “why can’t it be me” fog, the funk where I’d rather just stay at home and mope than go out and deal with the things that hurt.
I can hear how tired people are of telling me the same things over and over. My mom has got to be sick of saying “You’re going to have your chance” and I’m frankly tired of hearing it.
I’m tired of faking enthusiasm for other people’s pregnancies.
I can’t muster up a bit of hope for this IUI, and I don’t even really want to. I just want it to be over with.
I’m just tired.