If anybody’s wondering, it doesn’t get easier.
But strangely, it doesn’t get harder either.
You get numb. You enter this strange no-man’s-land with each unsuccessful cycle that passes. You learn to expect to get your period because experience and years of heartache has taught you that each cycle is a failure, your body is a failure, you are a failure, and that you’re destined to not be pregnant.
At least, that’s how it feels right now, on the eve of my period. My temp took its predictable nosedive this morning, and the cramping started last night.
And I just feel… meh.
I had lunch with a friend and her 18 month old daughter today. It was fun. I held it together. And then I pushed her pram out to the car park.
That simple act of pushing an empty pram made my heart weigh a tonne. People in my situation will understand where I’m coming from.
I was messaging a friend in America about it this afternoon. She just GETS IT. The focus has shifted recently from having a baby to just simply: getting fucking pregnant.
Actually physically getting pregnant is the only obstacle I need to overcome right now. And the challenge, the focus, the obsession is so all-consuming that I just don’t even entertain the thought of what having a baby involves. I don’t even think as far as giving birth.
My finish line is simply those two lines.
But I’m stuck in this warped, un-funny version of Groundhog Day. I am Billy Murray, and every fucking month my patience grows wearier, my tolerance plummets and my attitude stinks. You can see Murrary’s character in the film just get more and more “whatever”, where I’m sure if it was rated a 15 he would have been saying FUCK OFF in every scene.
He wakes up and hits that alarm clock. He has his normal predictable morning routine. He has to endure mundane chit chat with the same people. He goes to work and waits for a stupid fucking animal to predict the fucking weather and he’s like FOR FUCK’S SAKE ENOUGH OF THIS SHIT ALREADY. And he still doesn’t get the girl. And then he goes to bed. And wakes up. And it starts all over again.
That is my life.
Every month I do the same old shit, the same old dance, the same old TWW, the same old business of trying to get pregnant.
And every month I end it feeling sad.