So the dreaded two week wait is upon us and I am in limbo. Again. (Sigh, pout, waaaah…insert self pity here.) This is often the hardest part of the hamster wheel of infertility treatments…it starts out with getting your period, wanting to kill yourself, gearing up to start a new cycle, waiting for the clomid and the IUI and then waiting for another two weeks to see if it worked.
Sometimes I feel almost stupid for getting my hopes up.
Like this time it’s going to work, AS IF!
And yet, I feel like this month I have to stay positive and hopeful. I’m not sure what might be different this time around, but I have a strong sense that I need to be open and optimistic and deal with the consequences if I’m disappointed in a couple of weeks. I’ve been saying a mantra of: I am pregnant, I AM PREGNANT ever since the IUI. Which means, of course, that if I get my period it will be a real motherfucker.
Related not at all to anything: I noticed the other day that the woman who cleans our house had cleaned my hairbrush. As in, pulled all of the hairs that have fallen out of my head or been pulled out by my pathetic blow-drying attempts at BODY, out of the brush. And this is no small feat.
I am one of those woman who does not clean her hairbrushes very often, if at all. Nor do I wash my make-up brushes in warm soapy water each morning (who the frick has time for that?!?).
A few years ago when some friends took me to Vegas for my bachelorette party, one of my girlfriends asked to borrow my brush.
"Oh sure, it’s right there in the bathroom."
I heard cackles from the bathroom.
"Uh…Watson? Do you have, like, a health permit for this?" my friend asked with a look of total disgust on her face.
She paraded my science experiment around the hotel room, for all of my drunk girlfriends to see. (Thankfully the drunkenness prevented anyone from remembering this Kodak moment.)
I had never really noticed before how gross it was to have months of hair strands, layer upon layer of dead hairs, on a brush! But even after that embarrassing moment, I still haven’t gotten into a regular routine of cleaning the damn thing.
It’s a giant round brush and after a long while of neglect on my part, it almost takes on a life of its own. It’s like a giant hair Popsicle! Or a tiny shrunken head on the end of a stick!
Hey! I should name it and start praying to it as an idol.
Dear Fertility Follicle Goddess, please bless me with a baby and please make my new bangs grow slower so I don’t have to hack at them with nail scissors every week.
So anyway, you can imagine the sheer horror when I realized the cleaning lady had actually cleaned the damn thing. I’m not even sure she wore gloves!
I might have to give her a raise.
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