It is weird, being "on a break" this month from formal infertility treatments (every time I say that I can hear Ross Gellar shouting "
WE WERE ON A BREAK!!!"), I don't really feel as though I have that much to blog about these days. Aside from just a recap on my daily activities, which I admit is pretty boring to write about and I can only IMAGINE is much more boring to read about. However, I still am finding that blogging has become extremely therapeutic to me, and therefore continue to blog I will, even if the subject matter sucks. If anyone stops reading at this point, I don't blame you one bit. I don't spend my days jumping out of airplanes or hiking Mt. Everest, so to read about the monotony of "a day in the life of Dawn" can tend to become a drag. I'm sorry about that. I wish my life were more exciting, but it just ain't.
Anyways, I have a bunch of random thoughts and I don't know where to start, so I guess I will just list them out one by one. Yeah, this post REALLY sucks.
Saturday - Yesterday was pretty good. Anthony and I drove to Natick to his Dad's house. The four of us (his dad & stepmom, and us) were going to visit Anthony's younger sister G at school. Yup, school. On July 17th. I could NEVER! I mean, it is summertime for Christ's sake! Anyways, she just started a PA (physician's assistant) program at Quinnipiac University in Hamden, CT, and is studying her ASS off. It is a two and a half year program with no breaks - thus the summertime semester she is currently totally consumed by. We thought she would welcome a quick study break, so a visit from us and lunch out at a restaurant ought to do the trick. Afterwards, she took us on a tour of the campus, which was very nice, and then we went to tour Yale University, which was pretty cool. Both G and I share the same "I was gonna apply there just to see if I could get into an Ivy League school, but at the last minute decided not to" story, so we bonded a little. It was nice to see the campus of the school I had a remote outside chance of attending - I even bought a nice comfy "Yale" sweatshirt at the bookstore. We kept teasing C, Anthony' stepmom, for saying we were walking in the footsteps of many US Presidents. She was right, but her comment was for some reason very funny and cute at the time, so we kept giving her a hard time. C and I always end up being easy targets for the men when we're all together, but neither of us really mind, it is all in good fun. Long day, but a nice day. I really enjoy spending time with Anthony's family. I know that probably makes me sound like a nutjob, but it is true. His sister is so cool, I am truly in awe of her energy, her intelligence, and her dedication. She is going to be a huge success when she graduates, no doubt.
Dowdy Dawn - Sometimes I wonder what the fuck happened to me, how I became the person I am today. I don't even closely resemble the person I was a mere five years ago, and I don't get it. I am talking about the superficial stuff - the exterior. I am more or less the same person spiritually that I have always been, but my appearance has changed so radically that I don't even recognize myself half the time. This was more glaringly apparent to me today than it has been in a while. While the external changes have been gradual, they have a way of sneaking up and one day just bitch-slapping me in the face with a dose of harsh reality. The first such occurance was this morning, when I went to my friend C's newly purchased condo in Quincy for a brunch. I was the first to arrive, and felt awkward the second I got there. It was a casual brunch, so I dressed casually. Black capri pants, a tee shirt over a bathing suit (was headed to the beach straight from brunch), flip flops, my wet hair tied in a ponytail under a baseball cap, and no makeup whatsoever. CASUAL. As C greeted me at the door and one by one the other girls started to arrive, I realized how out of place I looked. They were all impeccably dressed. They all had bothered to both blowdry AND style their hair. They all wore makeup. They all looked fabulous. And I looked (and felt) like an asshole.
The truth is the way I was dressed today is pretty much the way I dress EVERY day - even for work. But for ME, this is highly unusual. I used to give a shit. I used to dress flawlessly. I used to NEVER leave the house without makeup on, even just to go get coffee. I used to wear designer skirt suits and high heels to work EVERY day. In fact, I have a closet that has 35 designer suits in it, all collecting dust. 35!!!!! I usually styled my hair with hot rollers, and would never even CONSIDER going to work with wet hair. I took pride in the way I looked - I tried to be as high-fashion as I could on a small budget, and was usually slim and very put-together looking at all times.
Fast forward a mere two years and I have become nothing short of a slob. A slob who doesn't care one bit about how she looks. The last time I wore makeup it was because I was going to a wedding. I have let myself go in every sense of the word - with my looks, my wardrobe, my weight.....*sigh*.....and the strange part is I don't know why. Is it the marriage-thing? I mean, honestly, am I that much of a cliché that I have become the attractive, thin girl who got fat and frumpy after she landed a husband? God, I hope not. I mean, I guess it makes sense, the one thing that distinguished me from EVERYONE ELSE at the brunch today was my marital status. Hmm....poor Anthony. I am going to have to think about this further.
I tend to think that it is more likely a simple reflection of my mood, due to all this baby-making stress. It is an indisputable fact that I am depressed. I know I am. It is understandable why, but knowing why doesn't lift the depression cloud from my head. There definitely is a distinct correlation between the slippage of my outward appearance with the length of time we have been trying to conceive. Twenty-five months ago, I didn't look too bad, and I took pretty good care of myself. Now, I don't give a shit about any of it.
Although I do. I care enough to complain about how I look and feel, and enough to feel bad for myself. But no matter what, complaining does not qualify as a form of exercise. It just doesn't.
After the brunch, I met up with Anthony,
R (again) and B, Anthony's best friend (and best man at our wedding) at the beach. I was there for only about two hours when I started to feel self-conscious again. I have always been extremely comfortable just hanging with the guys - many, many of my closest friends over the years have been men - but sitting on the beach reading my book, I suddenly was keenly aware that I was using my big belly as a bookshelf, and I got flustered. Noticing the giant expanse of purple spandex there before me (yes of COURSE I wear a one-piece) I suddenly was extremely embarrassed with my overweightness, and decided I needed to leave. I didn't want to sit there, with Anthony and his friends, prominently displaying to everyone the total extent of just how much I have let myself go. Off to the mall, I thought, because naturally what do I do when I am feeling depressed? I shop.
But here, my friends, here is the thing that hit me the hardest today. I am in desperate need of some more summer clothes, so I decided I would stock up on some pants and tops. But after I had an armful of clothes I developed a major feeling of "ick." What the hell was I buying here? Elastic waist pants? XL frumpy tee shirts? What the fuck? First of all, elastic waist pants should have no place in my life UNLESS I am pregnant, and that is final. I put them down the second I came to my senses. Get something with a real waistband, no matter how much more comfortable the elastic would be on my fat belly. I mean, really!
I used to dress "cute." I used to wear miniskirts and adorable dresses and, most of all, I used to look good in them. I used to have what I considered to be pretty good taste, a pretty keen sense of style, and a very cool wardrobe. Is it my age, my weight, or my depressed attitude that has caused such a major shift from "cool" to "as comfortable as possible?" Not that there is anything wrong with buying frumpy, unflattering, comfortable clothing. But the thing is, I feel like a fraud. It isn't me. At least, it didn't used to be, and I don't want to be like this. I like clothes, I like having fun with clothes, and I like looking good in clothes. Ugh....
I grabbed my shopping bags and headed to the exit of Macy's and caught a glimpse of myself in the glass doors. Who is that fat girl? She doesn't look like Dawn. And she sure looks sad...
I made an unofficial pact with myself right then and there that I am not to buy myself any more clothes until I have, at the very least, dropped a dress size. Or, until I need to buy maternity clothes, whichever comes first.
CLEARBLUE EASY - My $250 ovulation-predictor test is broken. Either that or my body is not functioning properly. I *always* ovulate. I have never, in 18 years, NOT ovulated. I usually ovulate on day twelve or thirteen - thirteen at the very latest. Today is day 15 and the damned thing still claims that I have not yet ovulated. I suppose it is not entirely outside the realm of possibilty that the thing is correct, but I just can hardly believe it. We've had sex, simply because by body feels like it already ovulated, but I don't know. I spent a lot of money on this stupid thing (I realize I harp on this fact, but it stings a bit still), I would like to at least have a LITTLE faith that it works properly.
SUNDAY BLUES - I hate Sunday nights. I have always hated them. Only because Sunday night signifies the end of the weekend and the beginning of the work / school (insert whichever is currently applicable) week. Most of all, it signifies that Monday, my most dreaded day of the week, is only hours away. I like my job more than I have liked most jobs I have held in the past, but I absolutely HATE Monday mornings. Lately, Monday mornings equal one thing for me at work - that our company's email service will be "down," and I haven't been trained on how to fix it. People know that I have no clue about the email, but that seems to be irrelevant, because not only am I in the "IT" department, but I am also the first person from "IT" to arrive on Monday mornings.
I am no longer greeted with "hello" or "how was your weekend?" All Monday morning means for me lately is that fifty people will attack me when I walk through the door, telling me that email is down, and when I tell them for the millionth time that there is nothing I can do until someone else gets in, I am then met with a groan and a roll of the eyes. I completely understand the frustration, but from a mood point of view and considering my constant fragile state of mind these days, it is not the tone I wish to start each and every work week with. But, at least for the moment, it is unescapable.
Enough random thoughts. Sorry this is so long and boring.
Wait until tomorrow morning when I tell colleagues that the "email" guy is out on vacation this week.
*sigh*...I hate Sunday nights.
