The word E busted out after tumbling down a ramp head first at a beachfront restaurant with the in-laws. Inconsolable one minute and then pointing out this wondeful thing hanging right there for everyone to see.
The week with family had really great moments. And other moments to process in therapy at some point, so pretty much a typical family gathering. In-laws or no, it's hard to get around people who say things before thinking without getting some barbs.
I've spent much of the past few months going back and forth between being angry and upset. And I've told October that we'd like a bit of stability to see our Christmas tree this year. Ornaments (as awful and tacky as they are) have been packed for 3 of the last 5 years.
Truth to all of this TTC business is that I'm just fucking tired of going to the doctor. Something I need to get over at some point. My really, really late follow up to my surgery sucked all the good thoughts I had towards an uncomplicated RE support. Naive to think that there are doctors who care out there. Somewhere. The one who charged double my c-section did not.
Behold, the Misfit-medical-mystery that YOU could be the doctor to solve. Yes, a 40-year-old woman with broken bits, rusty ovaries, and an obvious clock issue is saying, bring me baby #2 with over half a dozen losses and win my eternal gratitude. Reading that sentence makes my head hurt, so I suddenly have more empathy for the string of doctors who were unlucky enough to take my appointment.
My kingdom for some kind ambition on the RE front. A thought I'll just put out to the universe along with the wish for stability, and maybe a pony or a winning lottery ticket, too. While I'm at it.