Ever since we started seriously talking & planning for TTC—in January of last year—not a day has passed when I haven’t thought about it. Not a single day. Some days, I don’t go ten minutes without thinking about it. Other days, it’s a couple of hours. No matter how hard I try, it’s always there with me in some capacity. There’s no escape.
I think taking this cycle off for the HSG has been good for me. My stress level has been through the roof at work, and I’m grateful not to have clomid/HCG/progesterone screwing with me on top of it. This is honestly the most clear-headed I’ve felt in quite some time. That doesn’t mean I’m not still a basket case, but I’ve found that I’m able to talk myself through the crazy more easily without the fog of hormones/desperation that each IUI cycle brings.
I’ve been drinking coffee this week. And wine. It’s sort of liberating. Of course, if my 16 year old self could see what we consider liberating at the age of 33, she would roll her eyes and shake her head at me (while sneaking out of her bedroom in the middle of the night.) I feel a bit more like myself with every passing day.
Isn’t that good? It should be good, right? I considered that last night during a fit of insomnia, and I realized something: I don’t want to feel more like myself.
I am ready to put this stage of my life behind me. I want to swap corporate ladders for monkey bars. I want to trade impromptu wine & pizza nights with neighbors for over-scheduled t-ball practices and chaotic pizza parties.
Catch and I will be celebrating 6 years of marriage and 9 years of general togetherness next month. We’ve done this stage of our lives. We’ve got a great marriage. We’re not rushing into anything. We’ve poured our hearts and souls into this incredibly solid foundation and we’re ready to start building on it. This is not who I want to be anymore. I want to be a mom.
We’re not yet certain what our next steps are going to be. We’ll meet with my RE on Monday afternoon to devise a plan. I’m going to let the old me spend a couple more weeks in this place of irreverent floundering, but come CD 1, I’m breaking out the goddamn mom jeans. If I start rehearsing, maybe the universe will give me the part.