Let the wallowing begin

     This morning I was going to go to church. Seriously, I had every intention of getting up and going there. But, when I got up I found an unwelcome visitor. My period. I told myself to not expect anything this month, that it would be like all the other months. And I might have been able to handle it without getting my hopes up. . . . . Until the doctors office called and told me I had ovulated. Without meds. All by myself. So, I got a little crazy and let hope seep in. I knew that I shouldn't. I should assume that it means nothing. That my broken lady parts won't just miraculously, spontaneously conceive. What would make this month any different? But, I dared to believe that we might have done it all on our own. That I might go see the doctor on Tuesday and they would tell me I was finally expecting. The end of infertility and we all live happily ever after. . . .
     Alas, this is not the case. Rather, I need to call the doctors office tomorrow to tell them I started my period and will need to come in to begin the Clomid Challenge. I hate this. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. And, I simply couldn't go to church like this, with red eyes and the propensity to cry at the mere suggestion of the drop of a hat. Well, that and the fact that one well-meaning friend at church told me I should think positive and every month I should plan that I will be having a baby and believe wholeheartedly that God will reward my optimism with a baby. Each month, no matter how positive or negative I feel or think, I get the same results. No baby. In church they tell me that children are a blessing. Does this mean I am being punished because we do not have a baby? Is infertility a curse? I am supposed to monthly pray to God that He will send me a baby. And I do. I pray all the time for a baby. One would think an omniscient God would get it by now, no? How long must I wait for my prayers to be answered? I get angry at God and I know that I shouldn't. . . . . .
     So, today I wallow. I curse my cramps and despise my period. I cry and try not to. I swear next month I won't care so much, but I know I will. I fight with my husband because I hurt and he shows no out-ward signs of the pain (he told me he has basically given up hope). I torture myself by looking at pictures of my friends babies on Facebook. I sit around and feel sorry for myself and see the world as ugly and gray. I wonder what it is I have done to be cursed with infertility. What it is I am doing wrong in my life that I don't deserve to have a baby of my own. My arms ache, knowing they will be empty for just another month longer. And I worry. I worry we might never get pregnant (despite everyone telling me our time will come - bullshit!). And now that we are actually seeing an infertility doctor, I worry we will not be able to afford the treatment that we/I might need (our insurance doesn't cover any infertility treatment). I want this to be over. I just want a baby! I just want my body to do what it is supposed to do - create a dam baby! Woe is me. . . . . .