Little Miss Perfect is pregnant.

There is this girl at my office who annoys me to no end. I shall call her Little Miss Perfect (LMP). I call her this because every morning at 10:00 am, when my small office of 14 characters schleps into the conference room for our daily status meeting, LMP has 5 or 6 folders spread out in front of her, pen in one hand, highlighter in the other, while the rest of us are still wearily chugging down our first cup of joe. (Ha! I just realized LMP also stands for "last menstrual period." Oh, the irony). She sits in her chair as if there were a metal rod tied to her spinal cord, all alert and perky and, well... perfect. 

I'm sure you've already guessed why I chose to post today in her honor. Because today of all days is the day she annoys me the most. LMP is preggars. And the thing is, I knew it. I knew it the way you know about a good melon. Chalk another perfect point up for Miss Perfect.

Oh... it's all innocent enough. It's not like she ever means me any personal harm when I hear those 2 magic words fall out of another woman's mouth. But it's like in the movies when everything is slowed down and the camera focuses in for an extreme close up, and you can practically read her lips before she starts talking, and just as she says it that 12-inch dagger that's pierced your heart is slowly turning it upside down as it rotates in your chest. Yah, it's pretty much like that.

So there I was, caught like a rat in a trap, stuck in a little circle of 4 women as LMP delivers her news, forced to smile accordingly and ooh and ahh in sync with my female coworkers. To top it all off, LMP reveals to us, that in perfect Little MIss Perfect fashion, that it happened on her "first try... hee! hee!" Everyone is happy and healthy and thrilled beyond belief. This, just as I'm just starting to feel good about my decision to finally try another IVF. Really, God? Thanks for that.

You know how Carrie in Sex in the City would end each of her articles with a question? Well, I ask you... Is it illegal to mame a pregnant woman?

Giving In

I'm thinking of giving in.

It's officially been two years now since DH and I tried IVF. I left that experience vowing to never have to go thru the pain and the heartache and the fear again. And God knows I've tried  e v e r y t h i n g  to get my body into healthy baby-making shape since then. I really thought I could do this on my own. Now I'm not so sure.

Let's see.... just what did I do to try and win back my fertility post-IVF? First, I signed on with a naturopathic nutritionist to detox my body of the evil fertility drugs. That involved driving over an hour to her office, choking down gallons of lemon-and-cayenne-pepper-water concoctions, and undergoing some very strange muscle testing to see which natural tinctures would benefit me best. Next, I paid a thousand bucks out of pocket to extract all my mercury-infused dental fillings and replace them with bright, non-toxic porcelain ones. Then I signed on with my fourth acupuncturist, because, you know, THIS is finally gonna be the one who gets it right. I even endured a five-hour long marathon NLP session, where the therapist regressed me back into some of the worst memories I've ever harbored, all in the name of clearing my sub-conscious of any obstacles. Oh, and on the more practical side of things, I also started seeing a new "integrative" doctor to see if her medical degree could help me balance those devious hormones. 

So where did all of this get me? About seven grand in the hole. "But", I'd tell myself, "my cause is a noble one." After all, how can infertility survive in a body that is brimming with holistic, natural health? I was (and, to some degree, still am) dedicated to wiping out this "disease" from my body—without the help of artificial drugs or artificial ART or artificial anything! That, and I wanted nothing more than to march into my old RE's office with a protruding belly and an outstretched middle finger. 

But now I'm getting desperate. My 39th birthday is around the corner (...aargh, birthdays...), and I feel no closer to pregnancy than I am to ever being carded again. So ART it is? I tell ya, I am sooo not looking forward to all the anxiety-inducing appointments, the needles (the fat one and the skinny one), the $200 bottles of progesterone, the bills (oh... the bills), the lying to my boss about yet another "dentist appointment", and finally, the make-or-break phone call that comes at the end of it all. 

But what I am looking forward to? Snuggling a warm, cuddly little human in my arms someday.