You Gotta Fight….For Your Right…To (pity) Paartaay!

Gonna let you in on a secret.
You listening?
Come closer, I’m gonna whisper it so other people don’t hear…

I’m a bit of a perfectionist.

SHHHH!!!  Don’t tell anyone.

I know!  Unbelievable isn’t it?

I like to plan things out.  Not just events and things of that sort, but I mean neurotic-like.  I plan conversations. I think about what I’m going to say, and how they’re gonna take it.  I put thought into which aisle I’m going to walk down first in Walmart.  Yeah, that kind of neurotic.

So, this whole “can’t make my own damn body do what I want it to”, thing…sucks lemons.  I mean where was this in the plan?  Everything I’ve planned hasn’t worked, I’ll be the first to admit that.  But this is supposed to be much simpler.  At least that’s what we’re all taught.
So we dot our i’s and cross our t’s and lo and behold,…the $#% don’t work.
Now what?

I’m having a stank week.  This stank week has been brought to me by the letters U, the number 4,  and the color gray.  (My ode to Sesame Street)

U, for Unexpectedly Unemployed.  Can not comprehend why I don’t have my job.  I mean, doesn’t God know that here in America, you need a job to have health insurance?  But seriously, doesn’t God know that you can’t fill Clomid prescriptions with Illinois Link?  Come on man, cut me some slack!
4, for Four Years of empty womb syndrome.  In four years I’ve gained a niece, a great-nephew, three infant cousins, and a dog.  Non bebe.
Gray, for the weird Gray area that has become my thought process.  Sometimes I’m completely fine and proactive, and other times I want to quietly confine myself to my room with a tray of fudge covered graham crackers and a bottle of Merlot. {don’t judge me}.

And as these things get tighter and tighter in my head, and that damn clock, (u know the one), keeps ticking in my ear, I have small nervous breakdown tremors from time to time.

When they come up, I think rationally at first.  I know that my feelings are only natural, and that the sun will undoubtedly come out tomorrow, so I should just have a Coke and smile.  But then, nothing amazing happens.  God doesn’t immediately smile on my “turn the other cheek”-ness!

Nothing fantabulous comes about that says, “YES! You were right!  You really did win the Publisher’s Clearinghouse Sweepstakes!  Here’s your check that we’ve been holding for you”…
And from there I get sad.  Sad because things aren’t going according to plan.
This is not the way its supposed to go.  I’m supposed to take this step, and then this one, and then Voila!, the amazing goal I set for myself should automatically come to pass.   But it doesn’t.
So from sadness, I get angry.  No, let’s be honest since we’re gabbing, I get PISSED.  I get pissed at whatever is blocking my success, and WHOMEVER is causing that thing to block my success, and HOWEVER they have found a way to block it.

And from all of that, I want to take a deep breath, drop my knock-off bag to the floor, loosen the button on my jeans, fall backwards onto my hardwood floor and as loud and obnoxiously as I can…..THROW A TANTRUM.

I mean, one of those good, “my momma done kept me in this Kohls Department store too damn long” tantrums, complete with other shoppers stopping to stare.  I want to kick my feet into the air, and pound the ground, and make guttural noises and dry heaves, and stomp myself out of my Payless shoes.

But you know something?
I hear that when adults do that,…people have the NERVE to think we’re crazy.
I KNOW! Surprised me too!
So I don’t do that.

Instead, I find a way to slap that old shoddy silver lining up.  But you know what, I’m gonna level with you, in this strange infertility thing, sometimes that silver lining has a snag in the hem.  And sometimes it is okay to shout to high heaven that this was not on my itinerary, and I demand this vessel be turned around immediately.

I’m sure by now, that I’ve briefed you on what NOT to say to a person who has been trying to get pregnant, but just in case I haven’t, here’s a brief refresher:
1. Just Relax.
2. Calm down.
3. Count your blessings.
Et Al.  To these and other cliche, “quit whining” comments, I give you,

This face is all the more required when discussing barrenness with someone who is on baby #3.6 or some strange crap like that.

Point blank, you may have to tell folks that sometimes this crap is sucky.  It is extremely sucky for people like us, (don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret), who have trouble with things not “going according to plan”, and they’re just gonna have to give you a pass on that.  Then boldly flip your hair, fold your arms and say, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a pity party to attend.  You aren’t invited.  So there.”

Contrary to belief, misery does NOT always want company.  Sometimes we just want folk to get the hell out of the way while we torment ourselves in peace! And when you can’t do it, just stop by here, and I’ll rant enough for the both of us.

Now, if you’ll excuse me…I booked my pity party room for another couple hours or so, and I don’t want to waste my remaining minutes of agony on this whole, “talking through the pain”, stuff.