39 and Counting

I recently celebrated my 39th birthday. And by "celebrated" I mean clenched my teeth through the entire workday till I was able to run home and sob droolingly into my pillow. 

I pretty much dread birthdays. Not other people's, mind you, just my own. Birthdays are like an annual holiday specifically set up for reminding yours truly that you're getting older, uglier, fatter, and exponentially less fertile. Now who wants cake!?

I know I shouldn't be so glum. Life is beautiful.. lots to be thankful for... and all that jazz. It's just that every year, as early April rolls around, I tell myself "this one will be different—this year I'll party it up, get drunk, and forget all my problems." I have the best of intentions. And it started out all right, with lots of cards and calls from dear friends and family wishing me well. That's all I really wanted. No fanfair necessary; just a slight nudge from my allies reminding me that I am loved. But for whatever reason, year after year, the day slowly degenerates into a pathetic pity-party for one.

Case in point: Highlight Number One this year included getting into a huge fight with my sister, followed by a long period of The Silent Treatment. Nah... I didn't really need her support as I get ready for the mother of all IVFs, right? Highlight Number Two involved leaving work early.... to get a saline sonogram. Because nothing says "party" like having your cervix dilated and shooting a bunch of salt water into your uterus! (Apparently the fibroid I've been harboring these past few months didn't get the birthday memo). To top it off, Highlight Number Three had hubby and I setting out for an intimate dinner at a charming French restaurant, only to be seated next to THE MOST OBNOXIOUSLY LOUD AND ANNOYING TABLE EVER!!! DID YOU KNOW THAT AT THESE PRICES, MARTHA FROM NORTH CAROLINA CAN AFFORD TO BUY FIVE HOUSES ON HER VISA CARD?!?!? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA....

Thankfully, this little tale doesn't end here. Lest you start feeling sorry for me, I should let you know that the dinner was saved by a kind maitre' d who apologetically seated us in the adjacent (closed) dining room. I felt like we were in our own private episode of "The Bachelor" as he lit the fireplace just for us. And to be honest, there's really nothing a warm plate of pan seared foie gras in espresso sauce can't fix. 

As for my sister, we ended up having it out, five days later, in a battle-royal-marathon-2-hour-phone-call. But you know what? I think we were overdue. Sometimes you need to insult people to their very core, cry it out, and make up to truly realize your love for someone. We are all the closer for it now.

And my uterus? I'm happy to report she got a clean bill of health. Turns out that pesky little fibroid is a non-threatening 2 cm, and situated in a spot where it shouldn't do any harm. 

After the exam, I remember lifting my feet from the cold stirrups and reaching for my pants. Just then, my RE turned to hand me an Always pad, smiled and said "Here... you'll need this. Happy birthday". Another year bites the dust.

The Post about Nothing

I'm writing this post today in honor of my good friend, Katy, cuz I just saw her last night and the experience is still fresh in my mind. What's this post about, exactly? Well, I'm not sure yet. Let's just see where it goes.

First and foremost I want to express some of the great things that I've got going on in my life, mostly because my sister has told me she's given up on reading my blog because it's so depressing (Thanks, Flooz). To those few people out there still reading, I hope you don't think of me as some kind of pathetic sad-sack. (I'm willing to bet that since she's my sister, and has been thru IF herself, that this all hits a bit too close to home). So let's hit on some uplifting stuff today, shall we?

In that vein, I'd like to officially state for the record the many wonderful things I'm grateful for:

1. My husband. He's my rock; always there for me, rarely complaining, forever supportive. I still melt whenever he flashes me that beautiful smile. Goddamn it, I guess this is partly why I want to procreate with him so badly. Thanks for being there Babe, and keep on movin'. 

2. My girlfriends. Every time I hang out with one of them, usually over drinks after work, I'm reminded just how lucky I am to have them in my life; and at the same time I leave wondering "why don't I do this more often?" I love you all from the bottom of my heart, and can't wait till we meet again to laugh, cry, commiserate, gossip, etc., etc.

3. My family. While these days it seems there are so few of you left—two close members, to be exact—it doesn't leave me feeling short-changed one bit. My mom and my sister are two of the first people I turn to in a crisis, and the first two people I wanna call to share good news with. You two are everything I want and need in a family.

4. My job. Well, I'm not exactly gonna go on and on extolling the joys of working at my meagerly-run agency. Just suffice to say that I'm happy to have a steady paycheck at this point in the economy.

5. My dog. God, what would I do without all the unconditional love the various pets I've had have brought into my life? Every night when I come home, Grady is there, tail wagging, his head cradled in my hands. He's the baby that, for now, I'm completely content to coddle and spoil.

6. My home. While it's not the 4 bd/3.5 bath craftsmen that my husband would have us in, my little condo is what I call home. Yah, I complain that the baseboards need replacing/the closets need fixing/the patio's a mess. But you know what? It keeps me warm, dry and safe. And I love my kitchen, no matter what!

So those are the top 5, in a nutshell. I guess in  a way, I needed to write this. Because sometimes I get so caught up in my grief, it's hard to see past it. But there is something past it; something that's always been there, and always will be. Pretty important to keep in mind—infertile or not—wouldn't you agree?