Ah...there it is. That oh so common sinking feeling of dread, anger, disbelief, and nausea in the pit of my stomach that happens when someone else I know announces a pregnancy. The person in question is the husband of the pregnant one and a guy I used to hang out with fairly regularly. We're friends, as we have always been, and I don't begrudge him an ounce of happiness. I just don't know how to respond to the inevitable question of when it will be my turn. We're enough alike that I could, no doubt, use the sarcasm that I only threaten to use on people. I'll probably do that.
It's been a summer of babies for most of the people I know. One sister, two cousins, two friends, and several acquaintances all within 2 months of each other.
I don't feel as much rage and bitterness as I once did. In fact, the idea of not being pregnant or going through labor is appealing enough to me that I'm quite excited about adopting. I don't regret having a genetic link to my future child at all. She'll be much better off not having to deal with the rotten genes on both sides, if you ask me. What I do mind is the wait. And the questions (i.e. "So when are you going to have kids?"). And the people sending me IMs on facebook saying "I heard you were pregnant!" yeah...not so much. Oh, and the waiting. People all around us are having first, second, even third babies as we wait to even start the long, even more wait-filled process.
In other news, it looks like my quest for relief from the endo pain is at an end for now. The doctor wanted to put me on Lupron to see if it helped any more. After the supply company informed me that one injection would be over $1300 I told them thanks but no thanks. I can think of a hell of a lot more things I'd rather do with that sort of money than get a shot in the ass. Sheesh, I can get some seriously entertaining shots of illegal substances for less than that. Not that I would, of course. Hey, what's that on your shoulder? *runs away*
The Stirrup Queen's Completely Anal List of Blogs That Proves That She Really Missed Her Calling as a Personal Organizer
The Snakebite of Death
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