I wish I could EAT this post
I’ve begun my preparations for tomorrow’s lap and I’M SO HUNGRY. If the doorbell rang and I answered it and found a lovely baby in a basket with a note saying Please be my mama I’D EAT IT. Somehow clear liquids (all I can have until after the surgery) are just not satisfying my voracious appetite. I’m also feeling extra glum after my time in the clinic this morning (pre-op visit). I had to sit in the normal people’s ultrasound area in order to get my blood drawn, so was faced by a row of big fat bellies. There were also a couple of women in the waiting area who couldn’t have been more than fifteen years old. While I’m sure their lives are nothing to envy (just because having a child at fifteen is really tough, regardless of their situations), seeing them still stirs up something unpleasant. After I got back to the nice safe infertility area of the clinic, I overheard two separate conversations in which fellow patients had achieved pregnancy. I just wasn’t up to feeling happy for them. Selfish! That’s me. Anyway, they don’t need my happiness–they’ve got plenty of their own.
Anyway, wish me luck for tomorrow. In case I die on the table (unlikely, you say? I’LL SHOW YOU!), I’d just like to say thanks for your kind comments. It’s been wonderful connecting with such cool and strong women. (And for those of you who are actually fifty-year-old men posing as infertile women, it’s been great connecting with you too.)