The Big, Dreaded Word

Well, I have to admit I fell off the wagon last night.  I totally ate junk food for my dinner as a result of my emotional eating.  However, I've decided I don't really care about it as my afternoon delivered the big, dreaded word: infertility.  Now, I am not saying I am infertile, but I am saying I might be.  I'm saying my OB/GYN spoke with Dom and I about possibly taking fertility meds.  I am saying I delivered a request from my doctor to radiology for a test for infertility (a pretty invasive one, I might add!) that stated, "INFERTILITY" on it.  I'm saying I nearly lost my shit in radiology.  It just makes it so much more real having it written by someone else on paper.

This appointment was followed by a couple of tears and a greasy supper that I somehow feel soothes my sorrow, which was then followed by a visit with a happy-go-lucky pregnant friend (which is wonderful, but slightly brutal on that particular day).

I've decided that I am allowed to have "infertility days".  I'm guessing these will be my appointment/procedure days.  Days that if I am craving crap, I'm going to go with it.  Days when I don't need to visit with friends, especially friends that are pregnant.  I dearly love my friends, and I love talking about their pregnancies (I did want to be a midwife), but sometimes I don't need the reminder that this hasn't been, and maybe won't be, an easy road for me.