Thanks to all who proposed the shockingly simple idea that I should perhaps have delayed the Provera until post-paper writing time. Unfortunately you did not take into account that I am both a glutton for punishment and the most impatient person in the world. Luckily it's like I never started taking Provera, that's how little it's affecting me. However, I'm inclined to believe that perhaps I'm always a bitch, so how would I know if it made me bitchier? A question for the ages...
Today I am brought to this little corner of the IF world seeking further validation. Yes, I know, perhaps I should seek a therapist or at the very least a "yes" woman to carry around in my purse so I always have someone to hand that can tell me that I am in fact normal and not within the domain of the criminally insane or emotionally vacant. My next confession is a horrible one.
I have been trying to get pregnant for the past three years. Some of that time was spent without medical assistance, though I knew it was pointless thanks to my PCOS and the fact that I never had periods. In the back of my mind all this time has been this niggling thought that if I did get pregnant, that all my body-related self esteem issues would worsen significantly. The pregnancy purists amongst you would say that it's a sacrifice I should be willing to make, but I don't know if it is.
I don't think I could possibly convey in words how much my body issues have affected my daily life. I am self-conscious in my professional life to the point of not being too vocal because I don't want people to focus on me. There is nothing about my appearance that I like even remotely, and I dread to think how people perceive me physically. A friend of mine sent me a link to an ebay auction for a dress I have been visiting obsessively in a local shop. The size of the dress in the auction is the size she thought me to be and I felt ill just thinking that I must look to other people. Sometimes I almost convince myself that I am thinner than I think I am, but things like this prove otherwise. My mother-in-law wants to get me bras and underwear for my birthday, and all I can think is that if she buys them too big, my birthday will be ruined. It will easily be enough to drive me to my bed, crying while The Dude stands there looking hopeless.
It isn't a matter of "Oh my god! If I get pregnant I might have stretch marks and I'll get really fat!", as it's more a matter of "Oh my god! If I get pregnant my body will have even more stretch marks to the point of having more stretchmarked skin than unblemished skin! I'll get even fatter and have to avoid cameras for another 5 years!" I know it seems like an easy problem to mentally overcome, but that's not happening so far. I also know that this situation could be easily remedied by hauling this mobile home I call an ass down to a gym or something, so no such preposterous suggestions please.
If someone is willing to find me the time to fit in a full-time job, part-time masters degree and gym time, as well banishing the ill effects (physical and emotional) of IF medications that lead me to feeling distinctly un-workoutable, I will give you a kiss. Not on the lips, but I guess I will if you want me to. I'm easy like that.