you missed the party

 

The pity party.

The one I threw myself last Thursday as I once again drug the neatly organized storage tote of pads and tampons out of the linen closet and parked it next to my throne in the bathroom.

 

 

I should mention that the thought crossed my mind of hurling the same storage tote through the bedroom window for dramatic flare and declaring that I will no longer be using pads or tampons as a sign of my disapproval with Aunt Flo’s unwelcomed visit.

But that would just be a mess that I didn’t have the energy to clean up… the broken window AND going tampon-less on principle.

 

 

Yes, it’s only month three of trying and believe me, I know exactly what kind of lecture you could give me about how short a time period that is and then pump me full of hope and encouragement with a big pat on the back to get back out there and start humping trying to conceive again.

I gave myself that same speech. I dusted myself off and started building hope back up for the next month or just whenever God decides to bless us with a little miracle.

 

 

But that did not occur BEFORE I threw myself a big old pity party. I wallowed around the house and came close to tears. I threw tiny fits that day blaming them on PMS, which it certainly was – but which the pity party in my head made all the worse when I kept reminding myself that I wouldn’t feel so witchy if I was just pregnant and not a hormonal mess of PMS BECAUSE I’M NOT $*#!*#@ PREGNANT AND MY PERIOD IS HERE!!!!!

{Which my rational self knows is actually pretty ignorant of the pity party since pregnancy hormones seem to rage about 100x worse than the dreaded red’s hormonal wave… regrettably, rational self was not invited to the pity party.}

 

 

By the end of that first day, the fog had already lifted and I came to the conclusion that: DUDE… it pretty much SUCKS that a woman who is TRYING to get pregnant has to find out the disappointing news she is NOT pregnant at the same time her weepiest, most demon possessed hormones come sweeping in making even the smallest inconveniences of the day the worst tragedies that have ever hit her life.

Or maybe that’s just me.

Either way, it’s just poor timing. Mother Nature, shame on you for playing such an evil trick on the female psyche.

 

 

It’s all very dramatic and narcissistic of me, putting so much weight and importance on MEMEME and what I WANTWANTWANT, so I usually try to pull myself out of my pity parties as soon as my rational side comes rushing in to save me from myself.

I’m back to my normal, hopeful, determined attitude and ready to change up the baby making game plan.

Because obviously, patience is not a virtue I possess {thought for the day: could God be trying to teach me something here???} and it seems to me that there may be a very real chance that I’m just going to get more hostile with each monthly visit from Auntie. If this goes on for too long… SOMEONE COULD GET HURT HERE, PEOPLE.

{For instance, if they’re standing under that bedroom window the day the tampons finally come crashing through.}

 

 

New game plan coming in the next post. This one has already rambled on longer than I doubt any of you felt like seeing through.

In the unlikely circumstance you did though… IS THERE ANYTHING YOU WOULD RECOMMEND I CHANGE/DO/ADD TO MY DAYS TO INCREASE OUR CHANCES THAT YOU HAVEN’T MENTIONED BEFORE???

I’m already getting to the point that I would seriously consider most anything from the newest fertility vitamin to drinking milk while standing on your head and balancing your spouse with your free hand.

I joke… but really – don’t toy with me, because I may just do it =)

I mentioned already that patience wasn’t a virtue of mine, right?