In an attempt to manage my anxiety over TTC, I am doing something I never thought I would do ... I am writing my thoughts and feelings down for the world to see. You see, I am an incredibly private person; I like to hold onto my personal information and dole it out as I see fit. This has a lot to do with my personal history and how it was splashed on the news and in papers ... and, thanks to the internet, will never go away, but more on that later. This is about now. Today. Day #1.
My husband, let's call him George (I preferred "Georg", as I've always had a thing for The Sound of Music, and he does kind of remind me of The Captain, but George insisted Georg sounded "gay", so George it is), and I have been TTC for eight months, and, needless to say, it isn't going as well as we had hoped. I realize in TTC-speak, eight months really isn't all that much time, but these eight months feel like eight years. Right now I feel eight years older, eight years more tired, and eight years less sexy than I did in July. To make matters more interesting, when I was a young, naive little thing of 35, I told George I would not get pregnant after 40, so that gives me twelve more months. In an attempt to make the next twelve months not feel like twelve years, I'm delving into some recommended "stress reduction" techniques. Hence, here I am.
I don't know if anyone will actually ever see this, but a part of me hopes so.
