And there goes 5 more days. WTF?
1) After dinner last night Gene and I went out for ice cream. To the ice cream parlor next to the Catholic school. Immediately after grade school graduation. If you’re a girl like me, I am sure you will understand how fucking annoying that is. All the little grads…with their younger siblings…and their moms, pregnant with #3 (or #4…whatever).
2) So, Dr. P’s office said last time that they wouldn’t just call in more Clomid without being seen by Dr P first. Which sounds great in theory but good luck convincing the nurse of her previous statement.
“You said to call if the Clomid didn’t work so I could make an appointment, so I’m calling”
“The Clomid worked?” Nurse says
“NO, you said to call if IT DIDN’T” I reply – and you know I was nicer than the all caps suggests.
“Oh, okay. Let me put you on hold a moment.”
Nurse comes back. “So you need to come in for your Day 21 bloodwork?”
“Even if I’m NOT taking Clomid” (the “since you won’t GIVE ME ANY, BITCH” is silent, of course)? (Because what is the point of coming in on Day 21 – because I like chatting with the L*bCorp employee so much? – it would purely be an excuse to get out of work)
“Oh.” This sinks in for a minute. “Well, his next available appointment is June. June 22 at 1 pm.”
After my Diva Trick mental health afternoon last week, Gwen asked if I’d heard of adoption. Oh, YES SHE DID. Who the fuck hasn’t heard of adoption?? (It’s like, “Have you heard of spinach and artichoke dip?” or “Have you heard of American Idol?”) And then she blah-blah-blahed about her niece so-and-so who adopted and then slam bam ended up pregnant. Because there is nothing more comforting than the ol’ “My best friend’s hairdresser’s cousin was trying to get pregnant…they tried for YEARS…and once she gave up, it happened.”
(Seriously, the next person to trot that one out in front of me is going to get a sock in the jaw).
I’m becoming that person again…I should probably just stay in bed awhile. “That person” = the person who doesn’t see the joy in an ice cream parlor full of little kids in their school uniforms, the person who hears about a friend or coworker being pregnant and can’t muster honest joy for them*, the person who threatens violence on a person trying to give her advice.
(* a coworker’s 24-ish year old son has knocked up his girlfriend of THREE EFFING MONTHS… argh)