Guess I Needed it?

[warning]This is a fertility post. It could be considered a trigger to some (though, not really. I trigger to fertility posts regulary, and this one is a good news one), and way too much information for others. If you don’t want to read it, I won’t be offended. [/warning]

I don’t feel miserable. And that’s not normal!

I’d better explain. The short story is… My cycle started today.

The long story makes a whole lot more sense. For the past 3 years, when my cycle starts, I’m a physical and emotional wreck. I never bleed very heavily (I warned you about the TMI) but I cramp so much that I can only handle curling up in a blanket all day and wishing my uterus didn’t hate me so much.

And then you add the emotional side. I’m so frustrated and sad and mad, all because I’m not pregnant. Yet again, I have to wait a month. I wonder to myself if I can handle it. I have to reaffirm my testimony. I have to remind myself not to hate my body. Every. Month. I spend the day fighting back tears.

I’ve always wondered how much of that emotion was hormonal. Today, I’ve come to the conclusion that most of it was. And apparently whatever hormone it was doesn’t mess with Clomid. I know we’re only supposed to take clomid for 3-month stints, but I like this. I think I’m going to have to tell my doc something’s working. Even if it’s not what was intended.

Today, I organized my computer, helped move a fireplace (it’s not in yet , but we’re closer), made apple butter and 5 kinds of fruit leather, washed a ton of dishes I just unpacked (my nice set), hung picture frames, took empty boxes downstairs, showered (yes, that’s a big deal), and made a pre-planned, pre-marinaded dinner. I had time to marinade! I had sanity! That doesn’t happen on day one.

I was still a little testy, but at least I could make myself shake it off and start over. I even had the mental clarity to follow love and logic when my 9-year-old forgot she wasn’t 14 (seriously! Drama! Over making her bed! No one told me the drama started at 9! I wish 8 had lasted longer). Normally, it’s all I can do to not raise my voice or dish it back. She has no idea who she’s messing with! Her mother was the queen of sass. Just ask her grandmother. And no, that’s not something I’m overly proud of.

I think of today, and I’m filled with gratitude. I forgot what this felt like. I have no idea what the Clomid fixed, but I like the change.

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