I’ve been trying to brew a blog post in my head all day, but my thoughts are scattered, and I can’t seem to focus long enough to try to put them into words. Here’s my best shot, with no regard to coherence or flow:
What I did today:
1. Had breakfast with R, her fiance, G, A and her five-week-old son. I totally surprised myself by making a beeline for that baby, but–mercifully–he was asleep. If I had had to look into his eyes and pretend I wasn’t dying to have one of my own, I don’t know what I would have done. Conversation started out innocently enough, mostly focused on wedding plans, but soon turned to R’s expectation to be knocked-up by her wedding day (she’s 37), how many kids she and her future-husband want, A’s struggles with breastfeeding, and the inevitable labor story. During which I kept my mouth shut and tried not to let my eyes glaze over.*
2. Went toy shopping for Hubby’s nephews. Just the place I want to be on a Saturday. Everywhere I looked, babies, toddlers, and bellies popped up. Like a fucked-up infertile version of whack-a-mole.
3. Had sex with my husband (yay!) and contemplated buying some toys of our own. At least my sex life is back on track, even if the rest of it is a hot mess.
4. Whipped out the ol’ calendar to try to figure out (assuming we scrounge up the funding) when I can expect to go back on birth control for another round of IVF. Made a mental note to call my clinic and get myself on the schedule, thinking we can always cancel if we end up not having a way to pay for it.
5. Proofread yet another cover letter for a post-doc position Hubby is applying for. Here we go again.
6. Read this article, which Hubby emailed to me. He’s already trying to win his argument that we should find out the sex of the baby I’m nowhere near pregnant with.
*To their credit–especially R–I remembered why I’m still friends with these people, even though we see each other a couple of times a year max. When A commented that it was so cool to see how everyone’s life was always changing (first G with her baby, now A, and soon R will be getting married and having her own babies), R–whom I had emailed beforehand saying that no, the IVF didn’t work, and no, I didn’t want to talk about it over pancakes–chimed in and said, “And Daryl might be moving to [Hubby’s home country].” She’s a keeper.