I Want What You Have

Caution: this post is a total downer. I mean, total. Possibly fueled by fertility drugs and anti-holiday sentiment.

I should be spanked. I've been a very naughty ICLWer. I swear I'll catch up, eventually, but I've been so wrapped up in everything that goes along with hosting Thanksgiving at my house (read: HORROR, TERROR, and of course, the ever popular, family dysfunction, which is synonymous with the first two anyway). I don't know if it's the stress of the holiday or the truckload of C.lomid they have me on this month, but I am a pissy little beast. I practically threw a hissy fit when the lady at BevMo carded both of us tonight (even though Mr. S. was buying) and made me go back to the car to get my purse before we could leave with our stash. Do I look 13 to you?? I think I literally stomped back in, threw my license on the counter and muttered expletives loud enough for those within earshot to hear on my way out. When I said BEAST, I really wasn't kidding.

If you knew me, you would be certain I was possessed. I am generally non-confrontational to a fault (I will rarely send back food, even if it's discolored or ice cold-of course, this is also to protect me from the ever-common spit-in-food payback, which is a very real thing behind the scenes, people). I am often slightly tentative in my interactions and am never surprised to learn of my widespread reputations at all of my places of employment as 'the nice girl'. Yeah, I'm totally one of them, agreeable and all, except when I'm pumped full of 200 mg of C.lomid and have been caught in the middle of a week-long family power struggle over who will make the turkey and how it will be done, what the exact temperature and seasoning will be, and how the table will be positioned and how much butter will go into the yams, and so on and so forth. All for yet another holiday without the other person I've been so desperately waiting for. That symbolic empty chair will be there for me. Yeah, I guess I've been letting it get to me.

And I've been letting other things get to me, too. Never before have I faced the holidays with such heavy hurt on my heart. It would be just as well if we skipped December this year. January would be nice, too. Don't get me wrong. Since we were slapped with the label of infertile, the holidays have never been easy, but luckily, thus far, we have had small families that were comprised of only adults. Well, that is, up until this year. Mr. S's cousin, just now approaching his second year of marriage, will bring his beautiful newborn around and that is precisely when I'll wish that the holidays didn't exist at all. Sadly, that child will do only one thing for me at this point: remind me of my own, who would have been due just after New Years. Nothing good will come of it.

Instead of planning holiday decorations and shopping for gifts, I spend what's left of my mental energy on scheming how to avoid the pain at any cost. Asking around about who will be when and where so I can avoid them. I spend more preparation on this task than on the beautiful details I used to get wrapped up in, like making my own cards, wrapping banisters in holly. It all seems so pointless now. I mean, truly pointless. I felt silly decorating for the holidays before and now I wonder if I can even bring myself to see that Christmas bin.

And that holiday party? Yeah, that's not even a go. You see, a woman who got pregnant just a few weeks before I did and shouted it from the rooftops the second her pee evaporated from that stick will have her newborn there. I'm not really fond of her to begin with and she'll be standing there, holding what I've been fighting for for so many years. It came within a matter of months for her, with no afterthought. If I were to make an appearance, almost everyone in that room would shift their eyes at least once from her to me and I know what I would see. I would see pity-the exact emotion I want nothing of. I would be so happy to go away from all of this, take a vacation just long enough to see the holidays through. Yes, that would be lovely if we didn't need every last red cent for IVF now.

I would love to ignore my IF for even a moment's time. I would love to open up at least one present and not have the silent countdown of my baby's due date chanting in my ear. I know I talk about it too much, think about it too much, but not only does it not seem to lessen with time, but the numbers on that calendar only stand to emphasize it.