Jealousy

I've found something new to be jealous of.


I used to be jealous of girls who had boyfriends. I was Sweet Sixteen and Never Been Kissed. That was me. I could have written that Drew Barrymore movie (Never Been Kissed). I have mentioned before how painfully shy I was growing up. Even after a lot of that wore off in high school, I was still ridiculously shy around boys. I was afraid that merely talking to them would make them think I liked them. And of course, they would then tell all of their friends that I liked them and they'd all get a good laugh out of it. Because of course I wasn't thin enough, cute enough, funny enough, anything enough to want to date. Hi, low self esteem much?


But then I went away to college and instantly racked up two different boyfriends...and a whole bunch of kissing before that. Apparently I was totally worth liking. And apparently a pretty good kisser at that.


And then I realized that boyfriends kinda suck. So was jealous of girls who had husbands. Oh, to be married and never have to looking for a boyfriend again. To be with the one for the rest of my life. **Swoon**


Yeah, after many years of trial and error, I finally nabbed a husband. And not just any husband. He's the honest to goodness one. Swoon.


Then I developed baby envy, house envy, body envy, career envy...the list of my envy is long and usually distinguished. Not always distinguished, though. Lately I've developed food envy. There were two people in my office eating Cape Cod Salt and Vinegar chips for breakfast the other day. And I swear to you, just the thought of those tangy, salty, crunchy disks of goodness hitting my tongue, made my mouth water as though I had actually eaten the sour chips. That slight tingling under my tongue. The increase in saliva to balance out the extra salt. Even just thinking about it now, I'm having the same Pavlovian response. Oh, how I love those chips.


A few weeks ago, the HG and I were at Six Flags with some friends. While we were waiting out a rain delay (ahhh, New England in the summer...don't like the weather? Wait 15 minutes. It'll change.), one of them asked if I'd cut off a toe to get the body of my dreams. Hmmm...just a toe?? I'll give up a leg. They have really good prosthetics these days. But that was a month ago. Before the diet. Now I think I'd give up a leg for those chips. No. Seriously. I'll give you my leg if you hook me up. And, as an added bonus, I'd instantly be at IVF weight...


But the cause of my food envy is also the cause of another of my envies. And probably the worst one of the bunch.


IVF envy.


I so want to be cycling. I long to discuss what drugs I'm using and what side effects I'm having and how my follies look and when the RE thinks I'll be able to trigger. And then I could talk about if the symptoms I'm feeling are real or imagined. Real or the result of progesterone. Real or not. And then there is the anticipation of the beta. What will it say? Will it be over 5 and therefore I'm technically, though likely not successfully, pregnant? Will it be in that magic range of 75-100 and therefore likely successfully pregnant? Should I test out my trigger? Should I POAS before my beta? Oh the discussions and thoughts and options are endless.


But not me. Not now. It's just one more game I can't play. It's just one more place I don't fit in. See, when you're trying to get pregnant and you're not having trouble, you can play the dream game. I wonder if we'll have a boy or a girl. I wonder if he'll have blond hair like his mom or blue eyes like his dad. I wonder if she'll be smart or if she'll be funny (not that you can't be both. I clearly am.). You can dream of little league games and soccer practices. You plan your baby shower, your birth plan, your nursery. You chose names. You chose professions. Before the stick gives you two lines, you've planned a life for a life that doesn't yet exist.


But then the stick never turns. You get one line. And one line. And one line. Month after month after painful month. But you get to join a new club. There is a new place for you. A sadder place. A place you don't really want to be. But you find help there. You find friends who share your pain. And it doesn't hurt as much. Because you all talk about your hormones, your cycles, when you ovulate, what tests your RE ran, what your next step is. And eventually talk comes around to what will happen when. When you're pregnant. When you have children. When you're a mom (or dad). The if fades and becomes when. And with the when comes hope. Hope that all the needle pricks, and all the pills swallowed, and all the nights you cry yourself to sleep, and all the pain will be worth it. Because you have hope.


But I have nothing. I just have this envy. This wish for something different. This anger at myself for gaining the weight that keeps me from my hope. I don't have anything to talk about. I'm not saying I don't have hope. I do. I have hope.


The thing is, I believe this will all end with my, our, happily ever after. But in the meantime I feel lost. I just can't wait until I can get back to the baby making.


Actually, if I'm being completely honest, I just want to know how it's all going to end. The HG thinks it's funny that I always read the last page of a book first. I like to know how things end. And right now, I have no idea how this is going to end. So I have to hurry up and get there. So I can know.


My grandmother always said, "Patience is a virtue, possess it if you can. Find always in a woman and never in man." She got the saying wrong, but she knew it. But I will tell you, if that's the case, I'm SO not virtuous! (And not just for the patience thing....**evil grin**)


Anyone have any suggestions about how to slow down? I could use that.