No Pregnant.

Have you ever tried to cut a circle out of a piece of paper, freehand?  You know, you start with a large, pristine 8X11 sheet and eventually trim so much off in pursuit of perfection that you’re left with a small, wonky quarter-sized oval?

That is exactly what’s happening with my bangs right now, because I attempted to cut them myself and I am apparently useless as a hair stylist.  I think these bangs have gone through a full three different iterations in the last two months, starting really cautiously as long, wispy strands and ending up as uneven, blunt-cut, ridiculous face blankets, as I became less nervous (and therefore more heavy-handed) with the scissors.  Never did it occur to me to go to an actual salon and have them fixed up.  In fact, even as I complain about it now, I am convinced I’m not going to see a professional – I’ll just wait until they grow out a little.  Excellent.


Terrible, terrible bangs.

I finally broke down and purchased/took a pregnancy test after work today.  It’s been two months.  No period.  I’m an idiot.  And, I’ve been feeling nauseous and dizzy around the same every day and was, of course, freaking out.  (If I have learned nothing else from this process so far, it is that pre-TTC, I was almost completely unaware of what was happening with my body.  Maybe I’ve always felt nauseous at 1:30pm every day for about 90 minutes and have always had these horrible blue veins visible all over myself, but was never in tune enough to pay attention.  Now, however, I am keenly aware when my equilibrium has been thrown off balance.  I have heartburn right now and that information is now locked in the vault, with all the other carefully dated and timed instances I’ve had heartburn since May.)  I decided it was about time I stop wondering about what is going on with me and start actively tracking what’s happening.  After Clomid, I wanted to take a break from all fertility-related appointments and research, because in that one month, I bit off far more than I could handle.  However, now it just feels irresponsible to be off BC (or birth control, for you people not so embarrassed to say “birth control” in a crowd that you instinctively refer to it as an acronym at all times) and not have your period and then also not test.  Also, I’m heading up to San Francisco this weekend with my family and I wanted to know if I was in the clear to maybe have a few beers.

In addition, I am supremely weird about even numbers (as in, I am obsessed with them, as evidenced by the fact that I’m okay with an extended conception period because it may allow us to have a 2014 baby, as opposed to one born in 2013), so I figured it would wise to test on 12/12/12:  if I got a positive result, I would feel super optimistic about it and feel the blessings of the universe and if I got a negative, I would still have the round, even, positive energy of the date to help me through it.

As it turns out, I have to be content with just the good vibes, as I am, yet again and as ever, not pregnant.


When I first glanced at the result window, I thought it read, “Yes Pregnant,” which led to approximately .6 seconds of panic before I realized a) I am actually pretty vision impaired sans glasses and b) that doesn’t make any sense.


Not Pregnant.

I’m about to be extremely vain, but I already know this, so I am not ashamed.  I cannot handle how crazy I look right now.  My skin is doing tons of bizarre things (like being simultaneously tight and dry and slick with oil, and breaking out in blackheads and deep, cystic pimples, which I never had regularly before, even in the pre-Accutane days), I am all glassy-eyed from my cold and I feel enormous.  I think it goes without saying that I desperately want to have a baby because I’m madly in love with my husband and adore children, but at this very moment, I really wish I could use pregnancy as a happy excuse for all this bizarre body crap.  I am bloated and have digestive problems and oily hair and can only wear one pair of jeans (read: the ones with the most Lycra) and I’m not even pregnant, you guys.

I know this is all bothering me so much because I want to be pregnant and as of 6 am this morning, I’m not.  I know that all of these smalls things seem so huge because I’m disappointed and sick and my husband’s not here to eat crappy food with me and make me feel better.  Still, I’m feeling defeated by these small things and am wondering if I want to continue doing months and months of Clomid, all the while continuing to feel like a relative stranger in my own body, only to have all the rounds fail.  Part of me wants to throw in the towel and get back on birth control and just normalize.  I feel like psychological craziness of not conceiving coupled with the physical craziness I’m experiencing (cramps, nausea, etc. in addition to the vanity) will just get harder.

I told my husband a few months ago that if Clomid (and later, possibly IUI) fails, I don’t want to try IVF.  Maybe I’d feel differently if ever faced with the actual decision, but I assumed, back when we discussed it, that I wouldn’t want to put myself through the physical and mental (and monetary) anguish of IVF and then have it fail.  I would want to pour that energy into adoption.  (Again, I have zero experience and am not yet dealing with infertility, so feel free to tell me to get off my high horse.)  However, in some small way, this month’s Clomid failure is confirming to me what I already assumed about fertility treatments: it’s very emotionally difficult to put your time and energy and focus and and medicine and love and scheduling and health and hope into something and to do everything right and to not have it work out, only to be left with the promise of having to do it all over again.  And this month was nothing compared with IVF.

Intellectually, I realize I’m being dramatic and silly and it’s just been one month of ovulation out of 26 years of life, but I just don’t want to have to do all of this all over again.  Obviously, I will.  I just wish I didn’t have to.

Also, I found this adorable photo of my husband on the computer tonight and I miss him so much more than I thought would be possible.  As my grandpa told me on the phone today, absence really does makes the heart grow fonder.  I’m totally over the excitement about having alone time (especially now that I’m sick) – I just want him home already!

Finally, tomorrow I’m going to post some photos of my skin before and after Accutane, in an effort to explain a) how much that drug improved my life and b) why I am so obsessed with my current break outs that I would entertain the thought of not trying to conceive anymore and going back on birth control just to get a handle on my skin again.  This ode to vanity would have been a good place to stick them, but I already feel like there is too much going on here and I’ve been depressing enough.  Gotta spread the emotional trauma out a little.

(Upon review, parts of this post make me feel like an entitled, selfish brat.  I’m sorry if the tone is off – my face is so congested, I feel like I’m in outer space.  I was trying to be sincere and honest and I swear I’m a good person, who wants her husband back because she loves him and not just because she needs someone to massage her feet because she feels bad, even though she would really like that.)