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I'm
On Monday, I am going back on Clomid. Usually it's been 50mg but this time he's upping it to 100mg. People keep asking me when we are going to try again. When are we going to think about adoption. When am I going back on fertility meds. When. When. When. I find this to be very inconsiderate and very private. I feel like I am under some form of pressure that doesn't even exist. It's our business. It's our decision. It's our problem. Yet each time someone asks me any of these questions, I answer them. I tell them what they want to know. I don't want to talk about it. I don't like the fact that everyone knows what's best concerning a problem that may never be solved. Not always, but once in a while I lay in bed at night and think about the baby I lost. I think about how far along I would be. I think about hearing the words "It's a (girl/boy)" in the delivery room. I think about the color of it's eyes...if they would be the color of Windex like my honey's. I think about what I am going to do on May 11th. It's our second anniversary and it was the baby's official due date. Will I cry? Sometimes at night in bed, I think about it so much I do cry. Silent tears slide down my face while my husband sleeps. Silent tears which nobody hears. I don't tell him about it. I don't wake him up. I always feel better in the morning. I feel fine right now. I hope the time will come that I can hold a child of my own. I will be 35 next month so I am beginning to realize this may never happen. I am ok with that too. I know everything happens for a reason. I know I can love other people's children. Wish me luck.
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