Oh, the weight of it all!

Had a strange week this week. Had a couple of auditions, but wasn't feeling particularly energetic about that even though there's been quite the lull since the writer's strike. Was feeling blah, blah, blah. Anemia, I don't know. Tired. Weepy. True I had my period, but I generally feel better after a couple of days. And thanks to the uterine artery embolization, that was a little weird. It was more like heavy spotting instead of the usual Red River Valley. I have to admit, that whole talk about my husband's fears of me getting pregnant spooked me. And a couple of my favourite IF bloggers received BFPs. Oh, yeah, IVF does actually work. Nice to know cause they've been at it a while and I'm relieved and happy for them. But all the talk of POAS got me thinking - I want to pee on a stick too! What is wrong with me? I've become lethargic about the going to the gym (missed a couple of days, thank goodness, I twisted my knee - too much chanting on my knees?) and hence I didn't go to my Weight Watchers this morning. Couldn't face that nazi scale that might tell me I've gained 0.8 lbs. That would have totally fucked with my day. I think I've hit a plateau and need to go hardcore again. Sigh. I want a bag of chips. Seriously.

I had dinner with my MIL last weekend. She asked me how I felt about my weight loss, did I feel really great about it and wasn't I so proud of myself and all that. Yeah, I feel good about it, my gut is definitely smaller in the mirror, and my clothes are hanging off me, but I'm not all that thrilled. Nothing fits and I don't have money for a new wardrobe so every time I get ready to go out somewhere I have to pin up my pants. And I still have at least 10 - 20 more lbs to go. I'm kind of in between sizes at the moment. Dear hubby is thrilled and compliments me all the time. Yet, I knew who I was 20 lbs ago, and I knew that my life wasn't magically going to change even if I could fit into a smaller size. Come to think of it, when I was a size 10 oh so many years ago, I wasn't happy cause I wasn't a size 8. Had I known the retail purgatory awaiting for me at size 14 and size 16, I would have stopped eating. This is what happens when you're an actress and you're constantly surrounded by size 0 - 4 people. And that's the guys.

Hubby asked if I had done the Dear Birth mom letter, etc. I haven't. Nor have I looked into getting an immigration ID for a US adoption. Why not you may ask? Cause I'm too busy reading IF blogs? Going to the gym? Mmmm. Dragging my heels, I think. Not only am I famous for procrastinating on paperwork of any sort (let's not talk about taxes), I'm feeling decidedly unenthusiastic. Not that I've changed my mind about adoption at all. But I'm definitely hanging on to something in the past. Resentment, grief, distrust? I don't know. I'm responsible for my own life condition, I know, but I'm just blah about a lot of things at the moment. I'll figure it out. Now wonder I want chips, which is what I'll have right after I get back from spin class.

Do these pants make me look fertile?

This Valentine's was a little different. Stick with me here. First of all we went out for dinner last night, as we had dance class tonight and what could be more romantic than the rumba? Also, most restaurants are booked solid and rush you through dinner so they can have another seating. So hubby made reservations at a beautiful Italian restaurant owned by a well known chef. It was beautiful and romantic. (side note, as I was getting ready I discovered that the satin strapless top I bought last year, no longer fits me, nor did my sexy, black pants with side slits. I tried to pin the top to my bra so it wouldn't slide down, that didn't work, so I switched tops. I pinned the pants at the back.) Dinner was long and leisurely and the food was exquisite, we talked and talked. And then we realized that last year, we were having Valentine's dinner during the 2 ww, and 2 yrs before that the same thing happened. I remembered how excited and hopeful we were. Needless to say this time, I guzzled my wine with no guilt and much relief.

When we got home, we retired to the boudoir, me slipping on a satin nightshirt. And we continued to talk, but it started going sideways for some strange reason. Hubby seemed to be deliberately trying to pick a fight with me. All week, he was constantly snuggling me at night and now he wouldn't even reach out to touch me. And then I recalled a conversation we had a couple weeks ago where he confided that he was really worried that I would get pregnant since my UAE procedure. I thought he was over that since we've made love since then, but apparently not. It was a week full of sweet words, affection and massive snuggling, but also a lot of book reading and fatigue and yes, even a headache. We eventually decided to stop talking and get busy, but we talked it out the next morning.

He apologized and admitted he was still worried that I would get pregnant, and because of my age, my old decrepit eggs and Down's syndrome statistics it would end disastrously, and send us plunging down in the depths again. Don't even say that out loud. He even started to grill me about when my last period was. (Fuck, I'm more worried about menopause.) Now you have to realize that last weekend, we found out a friend has miscarried at 3 months (for the 2nd time) and that another friend of hours had had 2 miscarriages in the past 7 months. And another close friend just did their first IUI, so conception and/or pregnancy loss is in the air.

The thought had occurred to me as well, but I have no fantasies about my UAE giving me a whole new uterus. Or fresher eggs. I've been perfectly happy that I can walk the dog for 45 minutes without having to pee. I told him, honey, I haven't managed to get pregnant in the whole decade we've been together, on our own or with incredibly expensive drugs and a legion of scientists, this is not the time to worry about it.

So tonight we danced the rumba (great), waltz (we sucked) and fox-trotted, laughed til we cried, and had Dairy Queen (the ice cream sandwich is only 3 points!)

Who knew that looking fertile could be a problem?