You can ignore this post

This is a serious blog therapy post for me. I'm writing for me because I need to get it out. Miss "Rubbing It In", I don't care to hear your thoughts. I'm not going to read any further private messages from you.

Anyhoo.

My period came. I knew it would because I'm extremely regular. And I knew Mr.'s results wouldn't be ready.

I called the clinic this morning to find out if I can at least start the pill this month. Nope, I can't start anything until all of the results are in. Mr.'s results should be here in a few days, so we'll have to wait another cycle all for a few days delay.

Charting was making me crazy, so I quit doing that a while back. It was a fantastic decision and now I use the free service just to track my menses. When I logged in tonight to enter the start of my period, I saw that we are now on cycle 11. I know, that doesn't seem like a lot to people who have been trying for ages. But we started down the infertility path only a couple of months into it, so we've been waiting and waiting and waiting to just do something about it already for nearly 9 of those 11 months.

I wasn't terribly emotional at the start. I'm a practical sort of person, and when Mr. told me that he suspected he had a problem I didn't cry. The tears came for only a few minutes when he got the confirmation from the doc. The next 5 or 6 months were relatively uneventful emotionally. I was resolved to tackle this and I was sure that I, and we, would be OK if it didn't happen. Now I know that we'll be OK, but I'm not so sure about me.

Slowly, I started reacting to babies. Everywhere. TV shows, public transportation, baby food in the supermarket. It has gotten to the point where I nearly lost it at work this week for some baby-related comment that I don't even recall anymore. I do remember bitterly fighting not to cry in front of my new colleagues. I was sick last week and watched the local equivalent of Baby Story two days in a row, sobbing throughout each half hour episode. I'm not a sobber, but it was cathartic.

It's nearly midnight and I'm tired just from writing this. Maybe tomorrow I can organize my thoughts and write something coherent. For tonight, just getting this far was enough.