I thought about putting an inspirational infertility quote here, but instead I'll share that once I got out of a moving vehicle while on Clomid. I was hormonal, enraged and hulking out. I was a lurched animal in a cage.  Once I escaped, I walked for blocks while my husband slowly drove next to me. Eventually I cried it out, calmed down, and finally got back in the car. He never mentioned it again.

Toot, Toot

It’s like every time I puke, I puke out some of my personality. And unfortunately for my personality’s sake, I seem to be throwing up more often than not at this point.

If I were still unsuccessfully trying to conceive and read some asshole’s blog, bitching about being pregnant, I’d probably want to punch her in the face. And now, I am that asshole.

I’m fully aware that it makes no sense for me to be miserable and depressed. I am six and a half weeks pregnant after one single embryo transfer. I got the opportunity to see my baby’s beautiful, strong heartbeat yesterday. My daughter keeps kissing my belly and saying “BABY!”. And yet, here I am, feeling anxious and low.

The only reasonable explanation I can come up with is that it’s hormonal. Between the natural pregnancy hormones I’m producing and the artificial hormones I’m still jamming into my body, my endocrine system is just going haywire.

I laid on my bedroom floor and cried last night because I had so much laundry to put away. And I don’t mean I shed a tear. I mean I screamed and cried into a pillow. I’ve been seeing little bumps in the road as major roadblocks that completely derail my crazy train. Every little inconvenience is becoming an Earth-shattering event in my mind.

Two minutes before my ultrasound yesterday I received a call that one of our new receptionists didn’t show up for work. Not only did she not show up, she blocked our manager, myself, and our shop number so we wouldn’t be able to contact her. She freaking ghosted us. As someone who has never been ghosted before, I had no idea what a blow to the ego it is. Auch.

Our manager is one of my best friends and literally keeps our shop running smoothly every single day. So of course, she was already on our her way to work a double and do damage control. I had zero reason to have a mental breakdown over this chick. But, as hard as I fought it, I took it as a personal attack. By this girl not showing up, I took it as an attack on me, my husband, my entire business, and now my unborn child. I went deep.

Mind you, this chick has worked for us for less than a month and had already called off last minute multiple times. We had already started setting up interviews for a replacement. So this was in no way a shock. It was stressful to have an employee who just called off willy nilly, so this should have been a relief.

My poor husband was so excited about the ultrasound. He was taking videos and celebrating. And what was I doing? Being distracted. I was so fucking distracted that I immediately started to text and bitch about this girl as soon we walked out of the room. Here we were, waiting to be discharged from the fertility center, free to enjoy pregnancy as a “normal” couple, and I was wasting my time panicking over a part-time front desk position.

I could tell he was super disappointed. I knew I was wrong, which only made me angrier, so I continued to spiral. Once we got home and settled, I made the decision to snap out of it. And then we noticed a piece of paper on our front door. That paper was a letter from Duquesne Light informing us our power would be shut off that day.

I pride myself on being organized and rarely missing a beat. I have all of my monthly bills color coded, on my google calendar, and they are all paid minimum three days ahead. So you can imagine the meltdown that followed when I discovered I had missed my September payment all together. Luckily I quickly got ahold of them, explained the situation, paid my bill, and the power stayed up and running. But, I wasn’t done there. I continued to obsess over my mistake for hours. I cried and screamed, and mother-f*cked the electric company. (Because CLEARLY it’s THEIR fault I forgot to pay my bill.)

Michael pleaded with me to calm down, to which I just flipped out harder. (There was intermittent puking in the midst of these meltdowns) Finally I decided to put on workout clothes and do a spin class on my Peloton bike. I needed to put this anger and anxiety somewhere other than my husband.

After a little 25 minute workout, I felt like a new person. I felt lighter, calmer, less nauseous, and slightly rational. I came upstairs to Mickey handing me a “cheer up” card that she and Michael made me. I immediately started to cry. But this time, the tears weren’t angry, irrational, hormonal tears. They were tears because, yes I’m on hormones, and yes the day wasn’t exactly ideal, but I was so incredibly lucky. What the hell was I doing feeling sorry for myself and getting caught up on shit that really doesn’t matter?

For a moment, I could see the big picture. All of the emotional and physical pain we put ourselves through to become a mother is 100 percent worth it. And the fact that these medical advances make it possible for women like me to conceive and carry our own babies, is phenomenal.

I’m pregnant. I get to give my child a sibling. Five years ago I didn’t think I’d ever have the opportunity to be a mother, let alone be able to do it twice.

So this morning, I woke up. I puked. I cried. And I felt sorry for myself, but only for a minute or two. This cycle will continue all day, but I will continue to try to see things rationally. More than likely I’ll fail, a lot. But, instead of being a passenger on the crazy train, it’s time I take a shot at being the conductor.


IMG_6781.jpg

If you need me, I'll be on my couch.

Trial & Error