I'm in a bad mood, but I don't know if it's me or the Clomid.
Let's blame it on the Clomid, shall we?
I don't know much about this alleged baby-inducing wonder drug, but I do know that it's going to be my scapegoat for the next three weeks or so. All foul moods, crying jags, cold shoulders and snarls will be blamed squarely on that benign looking little pill. And his four brothers.
I'm skeptical of Clomid. I can't shake the feeling that all it's going to produce is a string of dark days and a torrent of tears.
My Beloved, if he reads this, will want to curse me for not thinking positively, but I've done just about all the positive thinking I can. None of my positive baby thoughts have led to a live baby, so it's far easier for me to believe that this isn't going to work either, no matter how positive I am. I'm not superstitious enough to believe that THAT'S what's going to prevent me from getting pregnant - not thinking happy enough thoughts, I mean. That's complete rubbish.
My mind is a powerful thing and all, but I'm fairly certain it's not the cause of my secondary infertility.
And if it is, I will certainly need to figure out a way to properly harness that power into some sort of money-making venture. Mustn't let it go to waste (particularly not with the cost of fertility treatments these days).
I do believe that stress can do some dastardly things, but surely crack whores lead stressful lives, and they get pregnant with alarming frequency, don't they? Or is that just what those of us with funky plumbing and corrupt uteruses think when we're in Clomid-induced hazes? Maybe, but even one successfully breeding crack whore is enough to blow the "stress" theory out of the water as far as I'm concerned.
I've long forgotten how to relax anyway. That's stuff of long ago and far away.
When I looked at the Clomid before I swallowed it this morning, I wanted to cry. I get that I need help conceiving and that any baby that is (magically) produced after all this poking, prodding and scientific intervention is still a product of the love between My Beloved and me, but it still seems like an awful way to make a child - with pills and dildocams and bloodtests.
I'm not sure if I've mentioned just how much I'm hating all this. And oooooooh, perhaps the worst part of it all is the nauseating self-absorption (for which I apologize profusely).
Stay tuned - I think tomorrow we're going to talk some more about me.