Not what it looks like

I know. I was supposed, ’supposed’ to write everyday. But obviously that isn’t happening. Maybe November.

 We were ’supposed’ to restart fertility drugs and try for another insemination this month as well. That isn’t happening either.

Hormones are the devil’s pits. You can give yourself a shot and laugh/take pictures as you pinch your belly to stick the needle in. You can write post after post detailing the awkward silliness of your misery. You can pour your heart out to total strangers, people that you will never meet, interweb crawlers, since you have to smile to hide the confusion before the faces of those who are supossed to love you. It helps, but it doesn’t erase what is real.

 Somewhere between Christmas and New Years, MB and I had our meltdown. It was one of those meltdowns that can turn an in love yet struggling in frustration type of couple into a you make me sick I don’t want to see your face one. Hormones are a bitch, and the make me a time bomb, ready to implode upon myself at the drop of a false word.

The trigger? Hard to define. Babies everywhere. The in-laws silence interpreted in my swirly brain as accusation. The past. The time we lived another life. Forgetting that being alone with Manboy to the end of my days was all I every wanted at one point. Forgetting Tunisia, being so drawn to one another that during a week in a foreign country we only once ventured outside of the confines of our hotel. All I had wanted was for that week to endure forever. Of course, it didn’t.

 Now here we are. House falling apart. Bills out the wazoo. Jobs. Wounds unforgiven. Failure. Miscarraige. Infertility? Spread eagle speculum. Cold hands. Diagnosis. Shock. Guilt. Betrayed by my body, betrayed by time, betrayed by my inability to cope.

It was one of those arguments that left me holding my head, escaping, leaving inside myself to a far away place where words could not be heard. It was the first time -ever- that we slept without making amends. It was a Sunday.

I peed in the bed. MB woke up in the night to vomit.

The next day he took of work, to stay with me. He has never done that before. He help me and we cried. Sorry, we said. We tried to talk, but were unable.

Maybe next month we’ll be strong enough to try again.