The February Attempts

I don’t think I realized just how tense I was about this whole thing until I found myself avoiding my own blog. February attempts 1-3 have been made without posting about them, and it’s because I just can’t even think about it. If I start to think about it, then I start to worry about it, then I worry that my worrying is going to affect my chances, so then I stop thinking about it altogether and think about rainbows and kitties and cotton candy instead.
This getting pregnant thing blows. It’s suppose to be an exciting, beautiful thing, but I don’t see how it could be; you’re either crazed from trying, or insane from the never-ending cycle of waiting, or clinically depressed when you’re crushed with disappointment month after month. I just can’t think about it. I can’t think about how many more times I’ll try before I’ll consider some sort of fertility testing, and what would happen after that, regardless if the results were good or bad. I don’t want to face the statistics on my age and weight and self-insemination and success rate, and I don’t want to have to entertain the idea of never being able to conceive. My chest tightens when I look at the rules and financial costs and timelines of the adoption process.
This was supposed to be easy. My high school Health teacher told me so. I should be able to get pregnant from sitting and watching TV with Loud and Quiet.
I wish I could be the kind of person who could actually enjoy this process. Be more patient, and easy-going, and devil-may-care. Instead, I will post this, then not think about it for the rest of the day. I won’t think about it tonight, when I have to swallow my pride and embarrassment and ask Quiet for yet another jar of magic. And I certainly won’t think about it for a single minute of the next two weeks, fourteen long slow days where I’ll get emails from friends with pics of their second child’s birthday party and I’ll compulsively read everything I can get my hands on that has the word ‘baby’ in it, and I’ll TIVO ‘Baby Story’ and all the sappy crap like it.
But I won’t think about it.