Headfuck

Shortly after I posted about my period starting, it stopped. Dead.

…and apparently, judging by how I have felt today, having a period stop, is actually a MUCH bigger headfuck than having it start.

Who knew?

I am not hopeful anymore. I am not wishing and day dreaming anymore. I am wanting to get this cycle the fuck over with so I can move on.

I just want to be finished. At the finish line, not needing to do this anymore. DONE.

And relaxing? HAHAHAHAHA. Don’t make me laugh. Unlike Nathan, I cannot turn my brain off and stop counting dates. I cannot stop thinking about it and sure as hell cannot ‘just relax’.

I cannot.

Other people may be able to turn their heads off and ‘just stop trying’ but I can’t. I don’t work like that. I like to have a plan and an idea, I like to work things out and think them through.

I had a plan dammit and that plan flew out the window months ago. Months and months and months and fucking months ago.

This is month 12 of concerted, energy draining, complete with added stress, trying.

This is month 16 of regular unprotected sex.

This is a freaking long time.

And I don’t want to muck about anymore.

So, now I am wondering if I miscalculated. If yesterday was more of the wacky spotting that I had been having a few cycles ago.

If maybe I was going to have another 42 day cycle rather than a manageable 30 day one.

Or if maybe, simply by writing about it I have jinxed it and I will wake up in a puddle at 3am (please, don’t visualise that).

I don’t want to think about any other option right now. I will leave THOSE thoughts to my insomnia at 3am.

(Also, how rude is it that I am having insomnia during the parts of the night that Amy sleeps? Hello, at least we could be awake and miserable together.)

Sigh.

Seriously, how was this so easy the first time around? (Wait, that would be because there was NO WAITING. Heh.)

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I didn’t and probably never will, consider myself ‘an infertile’, simply because I feel like a bit of a fraud when I read blogs about infertility.

We conceived Amy so fast, so easily, without even really trying, that it makes me feel out of place in the infertile community when I stand back and take stock of this current situation.

We were meant to have another baby, if not born, at least on the way by now.

We were meant to be prepping Amy for big sisterhood.

We were meant to be washing itty bitty baby clothes.

However life very rarely goes as it it meant to, so we find ourselves here, still trying 12 months on.

It has been 12 months of actively trying. 12 months of counting days, observing mucus, building up hopes and coming back down to earth with a resounding thud at the end of the cycle.

Before that 12 months, there were 4 months of ‘not really trying, but hey, wouldn’t it be nice to have them this close together? Maybe we should have sex again’.

During the middle of each cycle, I forget how long we have been doing this, because every month is a chance at new hope. I have Amy to keep me busy and toddler hair to smell, a toddlers face to wash and not to mention feed. Honestly, how does she eat so much?!

The end of the month though, tends to bring defeat, sadness and a little more bitterness. Every month, a little more bitterness.

And honestly, how can I talk about bitterness without putting someone’s nose out of joint? To be honest, I don’t think my bitterness extends to the wonderful women I know and love in the interwebs. Somehow I manage to be happy for them, even if I am a little sad for me.

And it SHOULDN’T extend to the wonderful women I know and love outside of the interwebs.

No.

It is more, the swell of a belly in a girl I went to school with. Her second.

It is another girl, pregnant with her 3rd in less than 3 years.

It is being completely fine with everything until a chance comment jumps up and kicks me in the face, causing me to write crap like this.

Truly, I LIKE these women that are pregnant. I could (and have) sat and had coffee with them, laughed and talked. We have discussed our first children’s habits and laughed at toddlerisms.

I still find it inordinately hard to see them pregnant.

So I am confessing.

I am bitter. Even though I thought I would be immune from it because of Amy.

I am bitter that I can’t get a medical professional to take this seriously because ‘You conceived Amy naturally and carried her to term. You can do it again.‘ Apparently the fact that we CAN completely negates the fact that we still haven’t (and yes, I do know that THERE IS STILL TIME. I AM STILL VERY YOUNG).

I am bitter that Secondary Infertility is overlooked because Hey! They did it once already! There can’t be anything actually wrong with them.

I am bitter and it is a terrible thing to admit.

So, a new cycle is starting and I am getting all of this out of my system. I am relaxing, I am going to enjoy the trying and I am going to be very zen until my next period is due.

I hope.

———-

PS. Please, no one take this as a personal dig at you, I promise, this isn’t about anyone except myself.

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Today is Cycle Day 30 (CD30, see?).

Today is 12 days (hell, sometimes even 15 days) before my period is due. I have a 42 day cycle. I have learned to live with that.

My period started today.

Fuck fuck fuckity fuckity fuck.

10 days early is very very early, so I am almost suspecting that it is more irregular spotting. That said, it is heavier than spotting, but not quite as heavy as my period yet.

It just shits me that we can’t seem to get it together. It is always one thing after another fucking with my cycles, my body, my head.

I will be going to see my GP to get a referral to a Gyno this week. I’m not entirely sure what the waiting period would be to get in, but at this stage I am prepared to wait if it means that something is getting done.

When I had my ultrasound done Monday, the sonographer saw a small blood clot, that was dislodged with all his poking and prodding. My instincts are telling me that this [bleeding] is more than just one small blood clot being passed (hey, I saw the clot. It was small, allright?).

Some part of me is worrying that what he saw may possibly have been something trying to implant, but he POKED ME and messed it up. Then my head tells me I am being stupid and that isn’t possible.

[Tell me that it isn’t possible please]

So, I am bleeding [AGAIN! cue groans] and I am cramping [AGAIN! cue groans] and my mother has been too busy to go out looking for yarrow [that the wallabies have actually nibbled to death! cue groans].

So it seems that there will be no pregnancy this month. It also seems that we may need further investigations done to find out WHAT THE FUCK is going on.

I’m thinking a semen analysis wouldn’t go astray either. Luckily Nathan agrees.

Now ‘scuse me, I am all done banging my head on the brick wall and I have a lemon and honey drink that needs sipping. Then my bed and heat pack are calling me.

Night.

PS. Any and all advice welcomed EXCEPT for comments about relaxation. I am relaxed dammit. I will be less relaxed if you tell me to be so. Also, similar stories of woe welcomed. It’s all about the solidarity.

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It has been 52 hours since I last breastfed Amy.

We didn’t plan it this way, but this is how it is happening. After a busy day yesterday, I found myself at 5pm without having fed Amy.

So I let it go.

When she asked for boobs shortly after that, I distracted her. Just to see if we could go a whole day without a feed.

All day yesterday and all day today. No feeds.

Amy tries to pull up my top and pats my chest saying ‘Boobies? Please?’

I tell her my boobies have no milk left.

She cries a little and snuggles in deep to my chest. Strokes my neck and then puts her hand into my top to assure herself that I am still Mummy. That my boobs are still there.

It is breaking my heart.

I know that if I don’t take this chance and run with it, we won’t be weaning anytime soon and while I am happy to keep breastfeeding, I really want to conceive and weaning is the only thing we haven’t done yet.

I am sad. And worried.

What happens if she gets sick? How am I supposed to deal with it without boobs? Boobs make everything better.

But sad mostly.

For my little girl who is growing up so fast. Who soon, won’t need ‘Mummy boobies!’ when she is tired or hurt or sick.

I am missing my baby.

—

I haven’t fed, or expressed since about 5pm on April 3rd. I have no idea what exactly I am doing or even if I really want to do this. Most people have a plan and drop one feed every few days. Me? I’m sailing by the seat of my pants and hoping to god this doesn’t blow up in my face.

So I am sitting here with porn star sized boobs (okay, so they are a little saggier than porn stars boobs) and a heat pack on my chest. Great look, you should try it some time.

Honest.

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