Thoughts upon becoming a bitter infertile....

I never thought I'd be here.

11 months ago, I imagined ditching the condoms... and a few months later, PingOAS and finding some cutesy way to tell DH that I was knocked up.

Fast forward.

Here I am. Monthly supply of tampax intact, "Conquering Infertility" by Dr Alice Domar (more on this book and Alice Domar's Mind/Body Connection in my next entry) on my nightstand, St Gerard medal around my neck and a Hamsa being hung above our bedroom window.

I've done wiccan chants, burned custom candles and have had more theology discussions than my DH (with 12 years of catholic school) or I (with 8 years of hebrew school) had ever thought were possible.

I'm a cynic. I'm angry. I'm sad. I'm afraid. I'm hopeful. I'm worried. I'm bitter.

I'm so bitter.

Male factor infertility. It's such a joke. The factor may be his but infertility is ours. I'm the one not getting pregnant. I'm the one buying the freakin' tampax.

I know he feels bad when I get my period... because I get like this. And I cry. Believe me I cry. I try not to - and I try to hide it when I do. But it's not that easy.

I know he feels responsible. But so do I. Because I'm the one not getting pregnant.

Cycle 11. How did I get here?

FUIF.