Full of feelings.

My family is lucky I love them, because here is some of what I’ve been hearing lately when I’ve told them about the cymbalta and/or the clomid therapies I’m currently undergoing.

“Well you were never one for physical activity anyways, really.” (Said to me after I explained that the cymbalta seems to be jumpstarting my sagging energy. I don’t even know how to reply to this.)
“Now does your weight have anything to do with the infertility?” (You can’t prove anything.)
“Aren’t you afraid of the high blood pressure?” (I am. Thanks for reminding me.)
“I’m worried about you and want you to be healthy.” (Thanks for the worry, but really? I’m not that terribly unhealthy.)
“I know exactly how you feel.” (Lies.)
“I’m not sure where you get your size from– your mom isn’t really overweight, and your dad isn’t overweight for how tall he is. Yours probably comes from eating too much.” (In her defense, she did say “like mine does” afterwards).
“The hot flashes and nausea will pass. It’ll be okay.” (This is as encouraging as it gets, but it still makes me want to slap someone. Sure it’ll be okay one day. Everything will be okay one day. But right now, it’s NOT okay at all.)

75% of that was said by my grandmother, by the way.

I’m not mad at her though. Not much. HA, j/k. I’m really not.

I just feel… like no one understands me or what I’m going through. I’m lonely. Terribly lonely. Even Mike does a terrible job at supporting me through everything I’m feeling… which is saying something because usually, I can rely on him to keep me cheerful and feeling supported in some of the darkest times. But I get a little bit resentful of him when I know he’s not feeling the hot flashes or the nausea or dealing with the bleeding, the cravings, the insane hormones that are causing me to think of sad things and bawl my eyes out while soaking in a warm bath. I mean, the best he can do is say to me that he knows I feel bad and he’s sorry for me. He doesn’t step up his game without complaining to do things for me… he doesn’t go out of his way to motivate me to stay healthy, even though he said he would diet with me. (Liar.)

I know that I can’t expect him to fall all over himself to help me out, but dang… Do something for once where you think about what I might need first, and also, when I ask you to do something, please don’t act like you’re horribly inconvenienced. I mean, if you want me to be honest, I am pretty inconvenienced myself these days, what with this heavy flow period, these mild (but incredibly lame) hot flashes, the constant bloating, the nausea, the constipation… I WAS ONCE VERY REGULAR.

I got so mad at him this morning because I didn’t sleep much last night (3 hours, and not by choice, trust me) and so I dragged myself out of bed to shower and get Nick ready but then at the very last minute he’s all, “I can take him to school if you want.” And I was like, SONOVA! Why wouldn’t you let me rest then?

It’s always the little things that get under my skin like that.

I am not sure what I expect from my family really, but I know that I don’t like the sort of “interest” I’ve been receiving from those closest to me regarding the infertility. Everyone is so focused on how fat I am that no one just says, “I am so glad you’re trying something to have another baby.” Maybe a little excitement or some positive affirmation is really all I need to not feel so… alone.

And Mike? Well, he’s excited about the possibility of a baby, but I would really like some extra help with Nicholas, the current child who needs to get out of the house more often. Mike rarely takes him anywhere, and I just don’t feel like it this week. Also? I could use a little help with the housework, but really just things like dusting and vacuuming and mopping. Oh, and it would be super if he could do the laundry, too.

Or he could skip ALL that and at least give frequent massages, as needed, without complaint. I mean, really, that’s all I ask. I still sort of handle the other stuff, if by handling you mean ignoring, of course.

Thank goodness I have my friends, all of whom have been incredibly supportive. (Thank you kindly.) Not a single one of them has mentioned being worried about me or my size. Not a single friend has said, “Think about your weight!” or “Don’t do this.” Except Michelle, and only the latter regarding the cymbalta. She didn’t like me being on an antidepressant– she thinks I’m the happiest I’ve ever been! HAHAHAHAH (see how I did extra “ha”-s there? That’s how hilarious she is to me, even though she claims to be “serious”.)— but she’s over it and she totally has my back.

My FAT back.