Exhibit A:
Ok, aren't those shoes cute? I'd buy them. Anyway, so my calendar is filled with big color pictures of shoes. Every day I get a new shoe to contemplate.And contemplate I do. I wonder if I'd buy the shoe or not. And if I would, what I'd wear it with. Because I love shoes. Imelda may have had a legendary number of shoes, but I'm telling you, regardless of how many orphans went hungry to feed her obsession, she did not love shoes as much as I do. It's a problem. I freely admit it's a problem. But you know, they don't make Shoe Lovers Anonymous. So it's totally not my fault. I'd happily stand up in front a roomful of strangers and admit my love. "Hi, I'm Kate and I'm addicted to shoes." "Hi Kate!". Thing is, though, as I stood up there, I'd be silently critiquing the selection of shoes worn by the meeting attendees. And no doubt I'll determine that most of the so-called shoe lovers are, in fact, posers.
It is entirely possible I have too much time on my hands. But the thing about shoes is that you can love them and find a fabulous pair that make you feel glamorous and beautiful and sexy regardless of your dress size. What's not to love?
But today I flipped my calendar. Each "page" on the calendar is two-sided. When you change the date on the calendar, you pull the old page out and put it in the very back of the holder. And halfway through the year, you take the whole lot of them out and flip them around. Thereby giving you half a year's worth of new pictures. Ok, so now we're clear on that.
The point of this? We are HALFWAY through the year. And I just can't wrap my mind around it. When I was getting married, I wished away the year before our wedding. I counted down the days obsessively. I went to bed at night just imagining myself walking down the aisle in my wedding gown. I'm pretty sure the HG was there in my fantasies. Maybe not. Everyone knows the wedding is all about the bride anyway. He was nothing more than a required element. Hi, I couldn't very well marry myself. Oh, call off Dr. Phil. I'm kidding. I would have married him in a potato sack in the middle of field in the rain (if you get THAT reference, you watch way too many movies. But props to you.). Of course I'd have had fabulous shoes if I did that.
As it is, I got married barefoot. I know, weird, right? The shoe obsessed girl got married barefoot. I thought it was romantic. My grandmother had a heart attack. She was quite certain the minister would take her side and deem me a heathen for even suggesting such a horrifying idea. He did not. He thought it was romantic. It was. I did have fabulous blue stain flats for the walk out of the church, though. You know, something blue. My mother was appalled at that. This from the former hippie who got married without a bra. Oh, how times have changed.
But I did wish away that year. And then we started TTC. And I started to live my life in two week increments. Two weeks from my **whisper** period to ovulation. Two weeks from ovulation till I could POAS. Lather, rinse, repeat. Ad nauseum. Two weeks is not very long, in general. But it can feel like an eternity when you're the one living it. When this two weeks could be the two weeks that makes a difference in your life. When this two weeks could mean the end of the trying. But it never is. So you start again. Afresh with new hope. And so it goes. Over and over and over. And the next thing you know a full year has passed (or in this case 2 years). Yes, two weeks is a long time when you're waiting for something. But it's a flash in the pan when you compare the rest of your life to it.
And now another half year is gone. I wished away the first half of the year by counting down till surgery. Then till the diet started. Now I'm counting down, week by week. Waiting for the day i can stand on the scale and see just how close I am to getting my babies back. When does the wishing stop? Is there ever going to be a time where I'm not just hoping for the next day to hurry up and come? I must be the only person in the world who hopes for Mondays. I'm not Cyndi Lauper. I don't wish it was Sunday. I'm all for my Manic Mondays. Mondays are my weigh in day. And after Monday comes Tuesday. Which is one day closer to Wednesday. Which is hump day. Half way through the week! Thursdays mean it's almost Friday and Friday brings me into the weekend and then I'm right on the cusp of another Monday. It's sad. And sort of pathetic. Please feel sorry for me. You may express condolences by sending gifts of shoes.
I wonder how I will wish away the second half of the year. The HG and I are contemplating a house purchase. I'm sure I'll spend a lot of time wishing time would pass so I could know what will happen with that. I'm hoping to start IVF again in August. I will spend every day wishing for it to be morning so I can go get my ultrasound to check my progress. And of course there's the never ending two week wait (2WW). Two weeks to ovulation. Two weeks till testing.
Remember that lesson I supposedly learned? That one about relaxing? Clearly I haven't quite learned it yet...
I bet some shoe shopping would cure this. It's certainly better for me than Xanax. And way cuter. If I mention Xanax much more, Courtney Love is going to start looking sober.
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