I'm having a hard time tonight. This Thursday will mark the one year mark since we had a doctor confirm I was not ovulating. One year since I was told I probably had PCOS. We'd stopped using protection 7 months prior to that, in the hopes of concieving in our own time.
Yeah, right. Here we are, one year and seven months later... still childless.
I should be due in a little over a month. I wish I was... the New Year is like a ticking time bomb. It's ticking, "Not yet, not yet, not yet. Too bad, too bad, too bad."
I want my baby back.
It's been a long year. Diagnosis', fertility treatments, pregnancy and loss, empty month after empty month. Failure, failure, failure.
I can only try to hope that next year will mark something different, a new beginning. But not tonight, I don't feel that way tonight. I feel like it's just getting worser the further I go down this rabbit hole. The emptiness, that hole in my heart, keeps growing bigger.
I wish I could go back to that naive woman, one year and seven months ago. I wish I could still feel exhilarated about the thought of making a baby. I wish I could still hop into bed excited, expecting that this time... maybe this time... I would get pregnant. I wish I could go back to that girl who left the spare bedroom empty, full of hope that soon it would be a nursery.
I don't like the routine of sex anymore, knowing that I have to do it this day and that day in some vain effort. I don't like feeling completely hopeless all the time. I don't like that the would-be-nursery is now my office/art room. How I would rather it be full and ready for my baby, due a month from now. But it's not. I'm not pregnant, I haven't been for almost 7 months now. And that naive woman is long gone.
I miss her. I miss those hopes, those dreams, those feelings of joy.
I have my CT scan in the morning, and my follow-up appointment on Friday. Thursday, the day the shit hit the fan... I'm going to a concert. I hope it's a good enough distraction.