I’m sitting at home waiting for the RE’s office to call.  There is a part of me that wishes that I said screw it when the OPK gave me that faint little line this morning rather than calling the doctor in a panic.  After a rushed trip to the office we found out I have one follicle and a very thin uterine lining (one of the many *insert sarcasm here* wonderful side effects of C.lomid).  A $180 blood test later and here I sit waiting for the phone to ring.  Sheesh.  If I weren’t here I would be in the pool, putting my anxiety to rest.  That currently seems like a much better option…

There is so much of this process that makes me feel like a teenager again.  I hated being a teenager.  The drugs that are supposed to regulate my cycle remind me daily of the crippling anxiety and depression that dominated my teen years.  Then, after a week of hormonal hell I settle in for the waiting.  Waiting for the phone to ring.  Waiting for the news.  Waiting for the waiting to end.  It never fails to make me feel like I am 15 and waiting for the perfect boy to ask me out on a date.  It also makes me wonder if I would’ve had better teen years if I had realized that the perfect boy didn’t exist because girls are way sexier.

If we are unsuccessful this month we are going to take a break.  Then Advent will be about the expectation and waiting that is theological in nature only.  I am incredibly pleased with this possibility.  While it would be absolutely wonderful to have a pregnancy to celebrate this year at Christmas I am completely satisfied with the fact that I can see a plan for something else if this doesn’t work.