One Year Later

I realized after our workout this morning that today marks a year since joined the gym and had our first workout there.

The Hubby and I were certainly no strangers to working out but this was a new experience for both of us.

We started out pretty strong, going after work. But one or both of us often found reasons to skip.

And we really didn't take full advantage of the facility, sticking to cardio on the elliptical or treadmill.

I actually gained weight.

Then we switched to mornings and managed to go consistently for six weeks straight. I started a strength class two days a week and The Hubby started doing weighta on his own.

Not great weight loss, but feeling good.

I will admit to falling off the wagon a bit in May and June during the basketball playoffs. We were staying up to late a couple nights a week, so we weren't consistent. But, we still went a few times a week and watching my Mavs win their firsr Championahip was completely worth it.

So, we started back up, I have to admit some of my drive was gone. I thought I had gotten over my little quirka about how hard to workout at certain times, nut there I was using that excuse again. And The Hubby has started his juice diet and he was walking lated in the evenings with a friend (had to be late due to the insane heat we had last summer), so we weren't consistent again.

And then John died and we only went two or three times in a month. We were just so emotionally drained and not sleeping. We needed that time.

But, again, it killed my motivation.

We started averaging four days a week this Fall. Not great, but at least we did it. I missed two full weeks sick with a chest cold, but worked my way back up.

The week of Christmas, while I was on vacation, I managed six days.

And, then, there was today.

I've had great workouta these past two weeks. BodyPump twice a week, yoga on Wendesday, and really kicking ass on cardio.

But, today, one year after joining he gym, I hit my highest calorie burn. And I couldn't feel my legs. And I actually thought it would feel good to go longer than an hour.

I really hope that I can keep this feeling as I go back to my normal work routine. I want to try for longer workouts, even if I start getting to work later. I want to not slow myself down because I'm worried about some imaginary pregnancy.

But, today, I am happy to feel strong and accomplished.

A far cry from the gal who wouldn't push it on the elliptical a year ago out of unfounded fear.

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34

And I thought 33 was a little rough.

I've never loved my birthday. It has nothing to do with age or getting older. It really has very little to do with being a "Christmas baby".

I'm really just not one for all the attention on me kind of thing. Despite what some might think and how I come across in many situations, I am a pretty shy, quiet, no spotlight kind of person.

You add that to having a birthday two days after Christmas, when people are sick of eating and getting together and buying gifts, it's never been a big deal for me. I always hated to be an imposition and would just be happy with a birthday wish.

But today I turn 34.

This one is really hitting hard. Again, not because I think 34 is old in any way. But, rather, because my age is starting to play a factor.

I never viewed getting older as losing time. I relished getting older and moving on to the next chapter.

And I always felt young. And I always felt like I still had all the time in the world for everything.

But today, on my birthday, I feel every bit of the weight of my years.

This is not who expected to be at 34.

I don't like to make everything about TTC or having kids, but when it comes to my age, that's when I feel it most.

I am 34. And while I know I still have time, I feel like I'm staring down the barrel of a gun.

Everything changes in respect to having a baby in this next year.

And I know that road. I've seen people I love go through it - both successfully and unsuccessfully. And it is something I never wanted.

A lot of reflecting on this birthday.

I want it to be happy day, but I think I will settle for content.

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And Things Were Going So Well

I had so much anxiety going into this evening.

I was scared about how I would react to my family with the baby. I was scared about how I would react to the baby. I was scared that someone would say something to me about IF or having a baby. I was scared about how I would respond.

But today was good. I had an awesome workout. I've spent the last few days in my kitchen - my favorite place to be - cooking and baking. PMS was gone, so I was less hormonal.

I was ready.

And it was good. Really good.

I held the baby for a long time and loved it. Sure, I got wistful and had to really concentrate on this particular baby. We talked about him and gushed over him - and meant every word.

I was so happy.

Until the question.

"So, did your doctor put you on fertility drugs?"

I had braced myself for the question but after the way the evening had gone, I was blindsided.

And pissed.

And I really didn't expect the it from my stepdad, in front of pretty much the whole family.

I tried to stop it, but it was clear he had no intention of letting up.

Enter my cousin, Miss Look At Me I Got Pregant Let Me Help You.

"I told your mom I have Clomid you can take."

Luckily, we were already on our way out the door because we would have left and it might not have been pretty.

"We tried for years and one of drugs."

Yep, I know. I was there.

"Or we should go skiing. Could have been that."

Why is this still a conversation?

I don't even know how I feel now.

I'm mad. I'm upset. I'm hurt.

And I'm sure I'm being depicted as the crazy, bitchy, ungrateful, overly sensative one.

I hate being pitied and felt sorry for.

If nothing else, I have never felt sorry for myself. I'm sad for me and sad for the situation.

But to think that they all look at me and think, "oh, poor Ashley, she wants a baby so bad."

And I don't like that it ruined my night, and made The Hubby mad, and made us argue.

I don't want to see them tomorrow. Hell, I don't want to see anybody tomorrow.

I want Christmas to be over.

I want this all to be over.

I'm just done.

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"We'll Sell T-shirts!"

"I just want to hit something. I want hit somebody until they feel as bad as I do."

Remember that line from Steel Magnolias?

Of course, Sally Fields's character was referring to the pain she felt after the tragic loss of her daughter.

Makes me feel like a heel for even comparing. I know there are many things worse in life and I count my blessings every day.

But each new cycle - or, rather, the end of each cycle - is like a little death for me.

It's the continued death of an unrealized dream.

The slow death of any hope I still hold on to.

The death of pieces of me.

So, I do want to hit something or somebody.

I want to kick a wall.

I want to throw things (my prenatal vitamins come to mind).

CD1. Cycle I've lost count. Four days until Christmas. Six days until I turn 34.

I need my own Ouiser to hit.

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It's a Good Thing I Stopped Believing

In signs that is.

Because, really, I could have made a case for them today.

But, I don't believe in them in anymore, so I had to laugh at myself. Let's just say I spent way too much time in public today. I was bound to see signs everywhere.

There was one thing, though. Really silly, but it resulted in me hiding an item at the store behind other items just in case I need to go back and get it.

Of course, it will probably be gone - even by tomorrow when I have to go back to that store and will probably look for it.

And that will be an even bigger sign!

But, like I said, I don't believe in signs anymore.

Mostly.

(Sidenote: I hate this part of my cycle. I have long since lost phantom symptoms - not sure if that's a result of trying too long or hormones stabilzing - but, my emotions still ebb and flow. One moment, I'm perfectly at peace and hopeful, the next nearing tears because I just know I'm out. I want to smack myself upside the head.)

Baby, All I Want for Christmas Is You . . .

I've been trying desperately to fight the rise of emotions.

I have not had all the moments I had last year around Christmas - the sadness is hanging up stockings, the general depression that once again, no baby's first Christmas ornament or even a baby bump.

I was excited to decorate the house (though, admittedly, I think I went overboard as compensation for the one big thing that IS missing). I haven't gotten weepy. I've certainly had some dread surrounding actually being with my family at Christmas with my cousin and the new baby, but that wasn't so bad because I could prepare.

But the closer we get to Christmas, the more dread I feel.

I am due to start my period two to three days before Christmas. And I'm terrified. Not exaggerating. Terrified.

This is the first Christmas since we started trying that my period will actually coincide with Christmas. The past two, I've been O'ing or about to.

This is definitely worse.

I know how my hormones are. I'm so afraid of losing it and causing a fight with the hubby. I'm so afraid of not being able to handle seeing the baby. I'm so afraid of what I might say if someone has the nerve to ask me questions about TTC.

I can honestly say that I don't think there has been a single cycle in over two years that I have wanted a BFP more.

I'm tired of waiting.

I do not think I can handle Christmas without it - I'm not strong enough anymore.

I want my baby.

I want my baby for Christmas.

So Hurt and Angry

(If anybody is reading and keeping score, this is the second post today, and there might be another. A lot going on in my head.)

After coming to terms with things in my own head and my Thanksgiving meltdown, I've really been in an okay place. We still decided not to worry about this cycle - no temping, OPKs, etc. That was probably good since I ended up with a nasty cold right after Thanksgiving, that lasted straight through ovulation.

I admit to being a bit tense because my next period should start a couple of days before Christmas. That sucks in and of itself - yes, I would love to be a hormonal, cramping, bleeding mess for Christmas; that will be awesome. But, let's just say all that happens at the same Christmas my cousin is coming up with her newborn. And given that said cousin is already the center of attention in the family, I can only see where this is going - let's just say my grandfather has suddenly found my email address again to send me pictures of the baby; he hasn't sent me so much as a joke in at least 5 years.

So, while tense and still hoping that we MAYBE caught my window despite me really being too sick for sex, I've been in an okay place emotionally.

Until my mom called today.

Nothing like a mom to throw you over the edge.

She didn't mean to, but the conversation really hurt and made me very angry.

My cousin and her husband traveled here (they live about 5 hours away) for the weekend for everybody to meet the baby. The Hubby and I had been invited, but I begged off since I am still on the tailend of this cold that comes complete with a nasty cough.

My parents went. And I'm not sure if my mom called today just to tell me about the baby or if she wanted more information.

I've never withheld information about TTC from my mom. I didn't tell her when we first started trying because I didn't feel like telling a lot of people (The Hubby didn't get that memo), but I told her within the first few months. And around the time we hit one year, she knew. And I told her right before we were to start testing. And I told her the outcome of the tests.

And I told her what our next steps were. That Clomid was only a small option because what Clomid is designed to do, I don't need, so the chance of it helping me alone are pretty slim. That our best option would be IUI. That money is a huge player in this, so I didn't know what we were going to do and when.

Nothing has changed.

I haven't told her more and she hasn't asked. Status quo.

But, apparently, last night, with my cousin (C, for the remainder of this post), MY mother decided it was appropriate to engage in a conversation with my cousin about MY fertilty and MY plans.

So, she decided to call me today, apparently, to convey opinions.

C told my mother that she's worried about me (this makes me wonder why she's worried about me; I have a sneaking suspicion that my mother tells the family sometimes that it's too hard for me to be around C and/or the baby) and wishes I would just go to a doctor who would give me Clomid, unmonitored, so I wouldn't have to worry about the money.

Are you fucking kidding me?

C has lots of friends who used Clomid and got pregnant. I could even take the rest of C's Clomid since she didn't take it all. She only took the lowest dose, so it wouldn't hurt.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!

And my mother engaged in this conversation, saying she didn't really know what we were planning right now, but that money was an issue. Because, you know, my mom took that one round of Clomid 22 years ago and she got pregnant after trying for 5 years. And since she, like me, had nothing diagnosibly wrong, it would probably work for me.

So, let's take the Clomid factor out of the equation for a minute.

The two of them actually had a conversation about me, my fertility, in some ways my sex life, and my money situation.

I went off on my mother.

I am beyond angry that the conversation even happened. And I am beyond hurt because all it has managed to do is bring up all of my insecurities about this whole dame process.

All their conversation did was make me once again question my choices. And make me feel like a complete failure that I'm not doing everything I should be doing if I want a baby so bad.

And it's making me feel completely left out, once again.

I told my mother that. And she got mad at me for getting upset with her. While in the end she felt bad, she still didn't get that the conversation was inappropriate and hurtful to her own daughter.

Maybe I am wrong for reacting so badly. I don't believe that either of them had bad intentions with the conversation, but it is a conversation that should have ever been had.

So, here I've spent the rest of my day near tears and feeling like shit about myself again. I did talk The Hubby after I talked to my mom. I needed a hug. So, I told him and he let me cry, and he hugged me, and he agreed that they should not have talked about things they don't know about, and he told me we are doing what WE need to and can be doing.

But, I'm still going to sit here and second guess myself. And wonder what I should/could be doing better. And think about how other people are talking about me and questioning my life.


Just when I was back up, I'm knocked down again.

Too Many Thoughts

Thanksgiving night, I had a huge meltdown, causing a huge fight with The Hubby. The positive, though, was that in an effort to help him understand why his wife had turned into some miserable, irrational, hormal bitch, I actually talked to him.

We told him things I'd never really said. To anybody other than myself and the blogging world.

See, The Hubby is the type to not want to hear all the crap. He's not uncaring, he just sometimes doesn't take the time to really HEAR what is being said.

To him, when I was upset about "the baby thing," I was just being hormonal, or unreasonable, or it just wasn't SO important.

Since the meltdown happened a couple of days after my big "think" in the shower, all of the thoughts were fresh in my mind, so I asked him to let me get it all out. To stay with me through the crying and the irrational thoughts to really hear where I was coming from.

I told him about feeling the loss of my indentity and trying to work through that. That this wasn't just about having a baby for me, about doing what everybody else is doing (he has actually said before that he thinks I want to get pregnant because my friends have babies), or it just being some passage of life.

My hope was that he would realize that, for me, I might be losing my dream. That I might be losing the biggest thing I ever thought would define my life. I wanted him to realize that I wasn't saying these things to blame him or for him to figure out how to fix it.

I just needed him to hear me.

And he did.

That night, he said he heard me and understood. That he'd never looked at it from that point of view because, for him, a child would just be a bonus in life. He never even thought he really wanted kids until we were in a committed relationship and even then, he wasn't sure until just before we started trying.

I left for an overnight trip with my mom and aunts two days after Thanksgiving. Things had been fine in the interim (aside from me throwing up the entire contents of my Thanksgiving meal leading us to question if I could be pregnant only for my period to show up two days early the very next day), so I wasn't expecting any more to come of the conversation other than him understanding me better and me maybe not being so on edge.

When I came home, though, things were different. The Hubby had done a lot of thinking about what I said and the whole situation while I was gone. He told me that he believed with all his heart that I'm supposed to be a mom. And that we need to start looking ahead.

He wants me to be more diligent when trying on our own. He wants to look at what our next options are/should be, find out about insurance coverage and costs. We can't do a lot right now, moneywise, but we need to know what our options are.

I feel so horrible for keeping things bottled up and not opening up to him sooner. I feel like we've wasted so much time fighting and being upset with each other because I was too afraid to tell him my feelings and fears.

I don't know exactly where we are going to go from here because, money aside, there are still so many things about treatments that really scare me. A year ago, I thought I knew what I wanted to do when it came to that, but now I question myself.

But, for now, I'm just happy to be on the same page and to know that whatever we do, we now really do together.