Too Much Information is probably contained below. If you don't want to read it, then you can rest easy knowing that you've missed nothing that cannot be summed up by me telling you I feel like bleh. That is all.
Okay, so I feel like bleh. (This is your last warning before I get to the Too Much Information part). I feel like bleh because my period started today and that always makes me feel like bleh. In good news, my hormones have apparently decided to even themselves out in the past few months, which means that now I only have to suffer through this horribleness every 25 days instead of the 23 days it used to be. It still sucks. In addition to physically feeling horrible for days, I also feel emotionally horrible for days. The emotional horribleness starts before the bleeding does. I suspect that I am one of those women who actually PMS, as in the Syndrome variety, rather than just a few symptoms that are inconvenient yet don't hamper normal life. I still do stuff, true, but only when I HAVE to. Between the physical and emotional trauma, I just don't want to do anything that involves, say, moving. Or thinking.
I don't want to go into all the disgusting details of how miserable my body feels right now, but I feel no qualms over going into all the details of what my stupid hormones have been doing to me emotionally every 25 days or so for the last several months. I get cranky, snippity, lethargic, apathetic, depressed, and prone to random crying fits. I don't want to get out of bed, but I have to because I have to use the bathroom. Then I don't feel like eating. Not eating does not help my emotional state. I also don't feel like cooking, which doesn't help the emotional state of my poor hungry husband. Luckily for me, he's nice and understands and is willing to fend for himself on days like today. I don't feel like doing any chores, yet looking at my dirty house depresses me even more. I don't feel like hanging out with friends, which is also hard on my poor husband, and I don't want to go shopping, and I just want to sit at home and watch silly movies and eat loads of sugar or salad or whatever I'm craving that week and cry without worrying about why I'm crying. But I always worry about why I'm crying. Most of why I cry is probably just because my hormones are freaking nuts. There's also the dirty house, the lack of food, the dehydration, the hot and cold spells, the moderate abdominal pain, all the other physical symptoms. I cry because I miss my family. I cry because I got mad at my husband over something inanely stupid. I cry because of babies.
This last one has been getting worse lately. I honestly think we're the only couple in our ward of child-rearing years who neither has any children nor is expecting any in less than nine months. And it makes me lonely, because it often seems like I'm not part of the mommy club. I don't have disgusting delivery stories or poop stories or adorable child stories. I don't have any children who can use all my crayons with me during Sacrament Meeting (I've resorted to making Mike allow me to draw him things to use in nursery). I don't have a baby to cuddle and smell its head that's full of baby smells. I don't have a toddler to chase down or play games with. I don't have any kids. And I want them. Badly. I want to be somebody's mommy. I want to experience the joys and horrors of pregnancy and motherhood. I'm 24. When my older sisters were this age, they both had two kids already. I should probably stop reading all these mommy blogs that I've taken to reading lately. They're fascinating, and funny, and sometimes gross, and there's something inherently real about their lives and the stories they share and the bond they have with each other simply because they're moms. And every 25 days, I get this horrible reminder of doom that I am not pregnant yet, and I start thinking of all sorts of awful reasons as to why that might be so (it is obviously, to my hormone-deranged mind, when I'm crying about it, all my fault, because I'm stressing too much, not trying often enough, sitting in front of my computer with my feet up, not eating right, the list of reasons that don't make any sense that I can come up with as to why it's my fault that I am still babyless is endless). I cry because of the immense disappointment that I feel, because of the horrible let-down each month, because no matter how hard I try not to, every 23rd day or so of the cycle I start thinking that maybe, this month, maybe I'm pregnant. I promise myself that I'll wait until such and such a day to take my pregnancy test that I have carefully tucked away in the medicine cabinet. I never get to use it.
It's been especially hard lately because I have been feeling in general kind of sick. Every time I get nauseous, or something that I'd normally like doesn't taste good or smells funny, every time I'm overly tired for no apparent reason and need extra sleep, every time I crave something slightly unusual, I get my hopes up. Whatever symptom it is, I have undoubtedly recently read something about it being a symptom of pregnancy. I start planning how I'll tell various people, what I'll write in my blog, the things I'll convince my in-laws that their grandchild will absolutely need to have. I smile at my husband with the secret thought that maybe, maybe I'm pregnant right then at that very instant, and maybe in a few days I'll get to tell him for sure that, yes, in nine or ten months we too will be parents. And then I start bleeding, right on schedule. It was really bad when my hormones were switching between 23 and 25 days, because then I would be thinking it was two days late, and I would get away with it not happening this time, that I'd finally get to use that funny little stick with the two little lines, and then, without fail, the day I planned on using the pregnancy test was always the day it started. After several months of that, I finally figured out that, oh, my cycle changed. How silly of me, to go and get so excited.
So, I feel bleh. Being around my nephews here is the worst. There's a toddler, an infant, and another on the way. Very fertile parents, I guess. I get jealous of that. My mother-in-law wants us to have a baby, too, to have both of her little boys be daddies, babies are her greatest joy in life. She asks me, every time my nephews are there, if I want to hold the youngest. I usually don't. It's not my baby. I don't want to hold every baby ever, I want to hold MY baby, darnit. Sometimes I give in, and hold him in my arms, and bounce him a bit like I did with my first-ever nephew when I babysat him. My mother-in-law oohs over how cute it is, me holding a little baby. She takes pictures of me with my nephews. She tells me that she thinks our first will be a girl. I start thinking about how, if it was, I could use my quilt I'm making as her baby quilt. She had a feeling one night that somebody was missing when we were on a family outing, and confided that she thought it meant that maybe we were next in line to have a baby. Then my sister-in-law announced, a few weeks later, that she was pregnant again, with her infant only a few months old. And me? My period started again.
It's hard, and I know, intellectually speaking, that this is really quite normal, that I only have like a 20% chance of getting pregnant each month anyway, that it hasn't been long enough yet for me to start to worry and go see the doctor about it, but it's still hard. I don't know if it would be quite so hard if it weren't piled on top of all the other horribleness that is already there because of the very thing that's supposed to make it possible for me to have children. I feel very not-great, and I am finally admitting it to people other than my husband. I don't need any advice, or sympathy. We'll keep trying, and I'll undoubtedly get all excited again 23 days from today about June maybe being The Month, and I will continue to hope that maybe I'm placing a positive jinx on myself just by writing about this. Eventually we'll have kids, one way or another, and maybe eventually I'll look back on this and think about how naive I was to think that this monthly disappointment was so hard. I've got a good life right now, and it will continue, and maybe it's even a good thing that I'm not pregnant right now, I'm sure I could quickly come up with reasons why it's good, and I often list them to myself, but it doesn't make me feel any better. All I really want with this entry is to finally admit that I feel bleh. It's kind of nice to let it out. Maybe it will help me deal with it better. Who knows. At least I've said it now though.
It's my mom's birthday today, and I'm missing her a lot, so I think I best be off to bed to try and not cry and get some sleep.