So I did the old pregnancy test yesterday morning and it was . . . negative. So Saturday night was my last dose of progesterone and now I'm just waiting for my period to start. Yesterday I started crying while watching an old episode of Vampire Diaries. This morning I started crying uncontrollably while reading about the Sikh temple shooting in Wisconsin. Thanks, hormones.
But yeah, I'm super sad. Despite my atheism and belief that nothing happens due to divine purpose, I can't get it out of my head that a pregnancy will happen at some sort of divinely inspired time (hello . . . 5th anniversary?!) if I "suffer" through all this. Jump through a set number of hoops and get a baby. Hooray. But that doesn't seem to be the case. A coworker will be birthing soon and she's complaining about discomfort. Do you know what I would give to be obscenely pregnant and about to have a baby? So far 4 years of my life and thousands of dollars. Injections. Me. The person who had to have her MOTHER hold her hand while getting pre-college vaccinations.
In the grand scheme of the world my inability to get pregnant is insignificant. I get that. It doesn't make me any less heartbroken, but I get it. I have a job with benefits, a husband I love (and who loves me), a house, family, pets, 2 cars . . . And I don't feel like I need a baby to feel complete. I know I'll be fine if I have to live the rest of my life without children. But I don't want that life. I want the life with children. Nothing compares to the feeling of a young child falling asleep on my lap. I love that. I want that.
In somewhat happier news I'm wearing size 8 pants today. Sure, they're GAP pants, and their sizes don't necessarily reflect other brands' sizes. But single digit pants! If I can't be pregnant may I at least be thinner. I'm 30 lbs lighter than I was in January. And a smidge over 20 lbs lighter than I was at the end of April. Hopefully the weight loss will help the Bravelle make SUPER follicles.