I’m not wearing my wedding ring and it feels very strange.
The truth is I haven’t worn it in weeks, but it’s only now, looking at Hubs’ bare hands that I feel odd. Somehow when he removed his, it got me looking for mine. Like I have to visually confirm its absence.
Sometimes I still feel its imprint and my thumb darts across my palm searching for the thin bands on my fingers. It’s like having a ghost appendage.
Looking for books to help you through your fertility funk? Here are a few that I used to bring me back when I was teetering on the edge of baby-crazy. You know what I’m talking about. ‘Crazy Baby-Making Lady’ is pretty much like the ‘Crazy Cat Lady’ equivalent. Except we can smell our own HcG spikes and talk to our uterine linings instead of to Fluffy the calico. But I digress..
I remember feeling totally jipped by Mother’s Day while I was trying for Baby Girl.
I knew I wasn’t a mom yet but come on. No wine, no soft cheeses, no caffeine, no sushi..and I had to sit there as my family toasted every freaking mother on the planet adding sweetly-intentioned supportive comments like ‘..and soon, God willing, Kat will be a mother too..”
The applause and clinks of glasses softly blurred the sound of my head hitting the table repeatedly. Kill. Me. Now.
I haven’t written in over a week because I’ve been emotionally paralyzed. I was busy researching some great posts on ‘eating for fertility’ and even started compiling my essential ‘trying to conceive booklist for body and soul’ — these posts are totally coming, I swear.
Someone please tell me why you can get nitrous oxide for something as simple as getting your teeth cleaned, but removing a chunk or two of flesh from my endometrium doesn’t warrant so much as a Tylenol. Seriously?
I had 2 biopsies almost 10 days ago and I’m still involuntarily crossing my legs when I see anything that vaguely reminds me of a speculum. Shudder.
