I shoot up at breakfast now. Seriously. This morning I was reading the paper online over Q’s shoulder, eating my muesli, and plunging a needle into my belly. Without pausing, or even really thinking about it. So casual that even Q. had to mention it (mostly I think because he didn’t really like the fact that I was shooting up while he ate his breakfast- see? it didn’t even occur to me that it might bug him).
Into the clinic this morning. Had the usual “So how many kids do you want?” discussion with my fs. He thinks he’s hilarious. My PCOS ovaries are still doing their thing. I think they’re a bit slower to respond than last cycle- it looked like most of the eggies were floating around 9…but there were a lot of them.
I go back in on Friday, and hopefully will discover that two or three have grown loads, and the others have decided to sit this one out. Probably looking at IUIs early next week I’d guess. It’s hard to tell sometimes. I think last cycle they grew really quickly in a couple of days.
I threw my first baby shower on the weekend. It was a welcome baby shower, as she arrived back in November, but this was the best time for her mum and for me. The shower itself was fine. I completely hoarded baby cuddle time- I didn’t want to give her up to anyone else. Then we all went back to my friend’s place to hang out with les boys (who were playing hockey during the shower including dear, sweet Q. who can barely skate).
And about partway through the night I realized that the smart, funny, newly married woman I’d met earlier that afternoon, and had held onto as my proof that not everyone was in the middle of procreating, was 12 weeks pregnant. Which meant that every female in that room was either pregnant or had their children with them. Except for me of course.
So then I went and sat in the bathroom and cried for a while. And then I washed my face and got on with it.
But sometimes? Sometimes it is so tiring.