That whole setting myself up for disappointment thing

Well, it didn't happen this cycle, even though I had some kind of ridiculous faith that it would. It's a tad bit worrisome. People who miscarry are most fertile in the three months following a miscarriage, and I'm on month 4. Yarrrrgggggh.

By the way, Drew Barrymore is pregnant. You're welcome. Also, so is every-fucking-body else, and their best friends and their dogs and cats.

Pregnancy's for the birds, anyway, don't you think? I've been hearing tons of pregnancy horror stories lately. I heard three late-term miscarriage (technically stillbirths I guess) stories recently. I mean, these are people who know people that I know. The degree of separation is much too small for my comfort. 

You want to think that if you can just make it through the first trimester unscathed, you're good. But that's not necessarily the case. Which is terrifying.

Anyway, there are good stories out there, too. Really good stories that aren't necessarily mine to tell, but fall within the miracle realm. Those kinds of stories make me really happy. They make me want to keep trying.

The "Why" Of It

I am having my worst period in recent memory right now. It's like my uterus is trying to make a break for it now that it knows I'm not going to try and grow anything in it any more. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if I woke up tomorrow to a crudely scrawled note reading "take care, Toots, taking the ovaries with me." Part of me would be willing to buy them a bus ticket.

I will never know why I wasn't able to get pregnant, which is why I think it took so long for me to reach the end of the line. All of my plumbing allegedly works. Yes, I was told I had "polycystic ovaries" but I have come to learn that really means "we aren't quite sure what's wrong, so here's something you can tell your friends." There are women with polycystic ovaries who get pregnant all the time, without any help. Some of the most fertile people I know have polycystic ovaries.

My husband's junk works too. In fact, when the fertility doctor first looked at his sperm counts he said they were "impressive." For a minute I thought Ryan was going to order a t-shirt to let the world know. I still feel bad that he will not have a biological child, because out of the two of us he really does have some traits the world of the future will need. He says he doesn't care, and I know he's telling me the truth, but there's still a part of me that feels I failed him in some way. I'm hoping that will go away as this process goes on.

I don't know if having a clear reason would really help though. I know women who know exactly why they can't get pregnant, and it doesn't seem to make it any easier. In the end, reason or not, we all feel left out and cheated, and then we have to decide what to do with those feelings.

Right now I'm drowning mine in Midol, and allowing myself to wallow until the bleeding stops. I figure I'll get back to "operation positive attitude" in two to three days.

I mean, unless my uterus gets out before then...

*Thank you all for your positive comments (and in one case really yummy cinnamon bread) after last week's post. Your support means a lot to me.

My 'gift'

Every year for Christmas, baby Jesus gives me my period. I am sure you will think I am exaggerating or simply lying, but the truth is: I start my period on Christmas Day, every year. Every. Single. Year.

And lest ye think this year was any exception, I assure you it was not.

After the miscarriage, I really thought that the next time I got pregnant I would just know it. But what's ended up happening is I have known that I was pregnant for the last two months in a row, only to discover, I don't actually know jack.

Well, what I know now is PMS symptoms and pregnancy symptoms are absolutely identical. I even get nauseated during PMS. It's really the best.

My sister had her baby about two weeks ago now. As I hold little Ava and feel unequivocal love and tenderness toward her, I can't help but think some kind of magic baby dust has to be floating in the air and if I just hang around her long enough, I'll get to have my own kid.

A more likely story is I'll have to break out my trusty Machine -- the most expensive ovulation predictor known to man -- and give that sucker a whirl again. It makes baby-making really romantic. In Opposite Land.

A friend remarked last night on the dwindling of entries here on Tired & Stuck, and I could only say:  I think the three of us are getting tired of saying the same thing over and over again. This is not one of those things that gets easier as time passes, unfortunately. It's harder to think about every month. It's faith-breaking and has that deep-in-the-pit-of-your-stomach feeling you get when something is unjust; not right; unfair; straight-up wrong -- and there's pretty much nothing you can do about it.

True: there are worse tragedies in the world. We know it, and we have perspective. But when your heart wants something so bad -- your brain can't reason it away.