I Heart New York

I've had 2 weeks to digest the idea that we are never going to conceive kids and it's taking its sweet time to digest. This has been hard. Depression is surrounding me like the cloud of dust and flies around Pig-pen. Tears come often and usually for no apparent reason. Brandon's doing his best to keep me upbeat but it's an uphill battle for him and I worry that he's holding in his own emotion for my sake. But we deal with things very differently. Every day is different, some days good others not so good, but thankfully the good days seem to becoming more numerous. There appears to be a light at the end of the tunnel. But that could be because I made an appointment with my doctor to talk about the depression. I'm secretly hoping for some medicinal remedy. I'm not picky.

One of the things that I have done to help pass the time has been to constantly research vacations. We are in DESPERATE need of time away. My sister very generously offered to have us come down and stay at the resort hotel her husband works at in Hoover, Alabama for a weekend. And that was what we were planning on doing.....until......I got into one of my moods.

I affectionately call it my "Fuck it" mood. This mood happens about 1-2 times a year and usually involves a major purchase or vacation...unfortunately it's usually when we don't technically have the money. The last one I remember (honey, feel free to correct if I'm wrong) was over a year ago when I decided one night that I wanted a new comforter for our bed. Within hours that turned into us deciding that we needed to completely change the bedroom. And that night, went out and bought a $6000 Tempurpedic bed. Now, mind you, we ALREADY had a Tempurpedic bed but a baseline model that my fat ass was getting too heavy for. Yeah, you heard me right, instead of becoming healthier and losing weight I said "Fuck it" and dropped enough money to buy a used car to upgrade our bed.

I know what you're thinking (well, at least one of the things you're thinking). You're wondering how I can blast Brandon for the iPad purchase when I have my moments of monetary reckless abandon. But my contention is that MY moments benefit HIM as well. Mr. Sanspree DEFINITELY reeps the benefits of that incredible bed (get your mind out of the gutters you dirty birds, my mom reads this blog!). I mean that this bed is SO comfortable, it is absolutely worth all 600,000 pennies we paid. His iPad does not benefit me at all...it only gives me more contempt for all things computerized with and apple on it.

So back to the need for a vaca...it didn't look like the generous Hoover trip was going to work out in the time frame we were hoping for. So I got back in Google mood and began my search with the echo of "Pluck it" in my ears (like I said, my mom reads this blog so I feel the need to start minimizing the profanity). I was looking at everything from Holiday World to Vegas (of which I've been to neither). Then my dearest hubby said he wanted to plan the trip and he'd let me know what he came up with. Later that night, that man reminded me why I married him (no, we're not back to the bed thing). I'm talking about his thoughtfulness. He reminded me of my life long dream of a trip to New York City to see a Broadway show. I had never contemplated this idea because it seemed more for me than him. Like most straight guys, he's not really a fan of musicals so I never even considered dragging him into my dream and his nightmare. But he offered it up to me....and then utter the words "because you deserve it." AWWWW. Heart melting. Loving him more. He totally got lucky that night (mom stop reading...yep, I mean the bed this time).

Because I'm me....I changed my mind about the trip a thousand times. I spent hours online pricing the trip over and over and over. Then I realized that it's WAY too easy to book a vacation online. One minute you're just looking at prices and with one click, BAM, YOU'RE DONE. Not that I regret it (well maybe a little remorse over the cost...oh who am I kidding, A LOT). It just seemed too easy. There should be an online conscience that pops up when booking. But even if there was one, here's how it probably would have gone:
"You sure?" Positive
"No, seriously, are you really sure?" I think so
"You realize that you don't really have the money to spend?" i know
"Step away from the computer and run like the wind!!" Fuck It....click confirm

I guess the electronic conscience wouldn't have worked anyway. So we're going to NYC baby!! It's only a weekend trip but we're both so excited! Times Square here we come....and we'll be sure to steer clear of unattended coolers and car bombs while there.

Pity...party of one...your table is now available.

This is not going to be a funny post today. I'm not in a very humorous place at the moment. This process is really taking its toll on me. We started this cycle over 6 weeks ago....and I'm not even to the pregnant point yet. I have spent MANY years dealing with trying to conceive and nothing in those years has ever compared to the emotional, physical, psychological aspects of these last 6 weeks...and I may have another 9 months to go. What was I thinking?

Welcome to my pity party.

• I can't do anything strenuous and that's killing me on this georgeous weekend.
• We're broke so I can't go out and do anything to occupy my time. (don't get me started about my guilt over the iPad)
• My ankles are very swollen (not sure why) and I can't take anything for it.
• I don't really want to be around family or friends because I'm incredibly weepy and am afraid of crying at the drop of a hat.
• I'm eating for lack of anything better to do...even though I'm not really hungry.
• I'm beginning to hate my recliner...we've spent too much time together today.
  

This process has brought life to a standstill. There's no looking forward....at least not for another couple of weeks. It's not like I can start looking up baby names or nursery motifs. And it seems overly negative to plan an alcohol bender with friends the first weekend after this all ends. There's only waiting and holding my breath...praying for the best but also expecting the worst.

Before you dial 911, a suicide watch is not necessary. Just thought you might want a glimpse into the deep, dark recesses of my hormone riddled mind.

I wonder if Baskin Robbins delivers...