If you email him, it will come

My period has been so kind as to introduce itself to a new prompt -- no longer does it feel the need to make its arrival 5 minutes after a negative test like the good ol' days. Now it likes to wait until I've emailed WHYBAML a rather long-winded tome in which I apologise many times for bothering him, and proceed to write about three paragraphs for something that could likely be summarised in a few words. No sooner did my eyes scan WHYBAML's reply than I felt the uterine lining release all its pent up frustration.

I reacted in the way that any normal infertile would sigh upon this happening. I sighed. Heavily. I haven't cried yet, despite listening to copious amounts of Jeff Buckley, late Johnny Cash, and Iron and Wine. Coincidentally, my Zen (MP3 player) must be sensing my mood, as it has only been playing depressing music for me on random. It's so kind.

I feel empty, not as if I even have the potential of crying. I feel as if the children we always hypothesise about are becoming less and less real with each failed cycle. As I've said many times before, I don't like other peoples' children. I think, well, I know, I would be that woman that says she only likes her own children, even once she's had children and is supposed to be oozing with the maternal. Seeing pregnant women and children does not make me think, "Awww...I want one of those for me, so cute!", but rather makes me think of all those qualities and features that the specific children of ours, the ones we have talked about at great length, would have that may never come to fruition. I don't see my children in them, I'm just envious that they likely came to be in such a simple, non-complicated manner and I will never have that luxury.

Today I did something I've never done before; I could not finish reading a blog of a newly pregnant woman. I usually remain non-plussed and happy for their success, but that just isn't happening today. It's the blog of someone who doesn't read mine, so all you new pregnants don't worry, it's not you. I just could not stomach all the "Yippee...I'm 6 weeks pregnant and going to Babies 'r Us tonight!" attitude. People like this get pregnant, while people like me sit in the back of the class listening to The Smiths on constant playback.