I’m home, worn out, missing T terribly, but really loving the glorious summer sunshine! Both Bolivia and Bogotá were cloudy, rainy, and cold.
This morning I took a bag of clothes to the thrift store. Included were several maternity dresses my sister gave me a long time ago. They’ve been mocking me from the back of the closet ever since. While digging through stuff I found a bag of baby clothes she gave me too, but I couldn’t even look at them much less decide what to do with them so I just shoved them back.
Ironically, I’m still holding out hope (against all hope) for this cycle. I’ll probably even buy an HPT before the weekend.
Matthew’s post today really made me think (go and read all the comments too, it’s a really good one). A week ago today T. said to me, more sad than accusing, “you give up so easily.” I’ve been chewing over that one. Also what Mel had to say about meandering towards medical help rang a big loud bell: what slows my steps? What keeps me from running to the RE? It’s hope and resistance, hope that this will resolve itself with minimal intervention, resistance to completely medicalizing the process. Unfounded? Unrealistic? Ultimately self-defeating? It’s the UNKNOWNS that are driving me mad.