Tell me to stress less, one more time!

It's been exactly a year.

12 months of trying.

Trying to stay positive,

trying to stress less.

Trying to conceive.

This is fuckin' bullshit. When is the joke over?

The one gift a woman's body has is to give life.

The absolute heartache at failing this each and every month gets too much. Accumulating each attempt. I feel lonelier and lonelier as each month passes.

At first all your friend are full of encouragement. You enthusiastically track all your bodily functions and fluids because that's what you read everywhere as the definite answer to conceiving.

A few months pass, you think this is the worst it could feel.
Your friends tell you "Just don't think about it, it'll happen."
But it doesn't.

More months, more attempts, you try every dietary tip, sex position and app there is out there. You google every symptom, ache and feeling hoping that the search results give you
"CONGRATS, YOU'RE PREGNANT!"
But Google's an ass and never gives your the answer you want.

As you try to vent to your friends they tell you once more, "Just don't stress, it'll happen."
After this long, you're finally fed up hearing it, it becomes an insult, a slap in the face with good intentions. How does one not stress at failing the one thing their body should be able to do?

Tell me?

So, sick of hearing the well intentioned, shitty advice from everyone- and a lack of real miracle solutions- you turn inward.
You stop talking to anyone about it, you don't want to see the discomfort they try to hide, the awkwardness written on their face "I have no more cheerful sayings."
But you also don't want to be advertising your failures anymore. You're ashamed.

This isn't funny anymore.
You think to yourself, you don't want hubby to be feeling down, he's got the all clear, you know it's not a pressure on him. He does his bit, right?

Now you have those moments- that seem to occur even more often now- where you randomly, absolutely, pathetically break down because you can't get pregnant. It's not even after negative tests anymore, it's almost weekly now with no forewarning. Trying to hide it from hubby, dear hubby, who doesn't know what to say. He just holds you and lets you cry your eyes out as he's probably thinking "Where did this come from?"

A few weeks ago, I told him I felt alone. Incredibly alone, that I had no one to talk to about all this. That no one wants to hear it anymore. He suggested a counsellor.
I thought to myself, how about a blog.

He doesn't even know yet.

I just need to put it out there.

Now I've vented, I can move on to the more positive.

I HOPE!

It's been heard before...

It's the same old sorry story you see in the movie,
Woman, 29
Married- one year.
Trying to get their shit together, trying to conceive, trying to lose that comfort weight.
Rather suburban and sorry.

But I'm ok with that, the sorry part. Not a fan of suburban, god, I'm not that bad.

We sit on the lounge (second hand, big red thing- huge regret- but hubby's chance to say 'I told you so' and now we can't get rid of it because buying a new one is also out of the question) devouring our lite n' easy microwave dinners- our latest attempts at losing weight without putting too much of an actual effort in- sitting in my singlet and undies (the attire for today as it's the first warm day of the season and who needs to wear pants, really?)

Hubby is scrolling through today's news stories. Something about science discovery and space- while my eyes drift towards the side junky article "5 Things you'd need to go to Mars". Ooooh, I think to myself, read that one! But of course I don't, he doesn't like the light-read junky articles, I love them.
What if we want to go? Would I have the stated requirements? I'll never know....

That's as similar as our interest gets in nerdy space stuff. I like aliens and conspiracy theories, he likes technical mumbo jumbo about the chemicals, creation and... all that stuff??

Though he's a cool nerd. when our lite n' easy was delivered the first week, he was sad that the dry ice wasn't saved. So of course, being the good wifey, I saved it the second week- almost froze my fingertips off in the process. And I got to watch a grown man, sober, pretending to be a wizard as the fog oozed out of the glass of water...

I swear, he is cool- He's that kind of kid that steals things from the science lab at school to then go and blow shit up, real estate signs and letter boxes..... in a safe and controlled manner, of course....

Our fur-baby, Rupert gets all worked up as he watches Dear Hubby get excited, watching the two of them is amusing and comforting. I'm pretty lucky really, I think to myself. Life could be worse.

Of course, there's always that emptiness, that yearning for the next stage- are we ever truly happy?
Is it ever enough?

Trying to conceive is the main purpose for this blog, an avenue to vent, let loose and share with someone if they get sick of it- can just click that little back button and feck off. This way I'm ont burdening Hubby or friends who find it all a bit awkward and depressing to talk about.

I'm going bonkers, I hate leaning on people and being vulnerable- but this TTC bullshit has got me.

More on that to come later.

It's a doozy!