When you are on hormone supplements you have highs and lows. Very high highs and very low lows. Take this weekend, for example. We went apple picking, country drivin', and I unilaterally decided we will have a fabulous mosaic tile backsplash (I didn't get around to the project specifics, but I spent a good 30 minutes in the bowels of Lowes so I think that's making good progress).
Then, last night, Matt brought home the wrong bread. I was making roasted cauliflower soup and had asked for a French baguette. He brought me a short, stout sour-dough loaf. I was enraged.
My rage can take on many manifestations, but this particular variety was: cry, scream, plea (for a new loaf), and yell some more. I'm not proud of these moments. My face gets puffy and red. Mascara runs down my neck. And I am at my worst.
Someone else I know going through fertility treatments described the very same thing: crying, screaming, and a terrified husband holding his breath for the next rampage. My descent started with bread, went to "You have NO idea; why don't you just GO AND PLAY SOME GOLF and live your EASY life!" and went to, "F--- kids! I just want a goddamn PACK OF DOGS!" I really said this.
That's not to say Matt is all good and no bad. Boys, on a whole, can say supremely insensitive things and not even realize it. Yesterday Matt said he will make a "sacrifice" and be "okay" with one child. It was a relatively innocuous statement, but I was at my brink, and I was incensed. "Boy, at this point, you WILL be ELATED with ONE child! And you say you're sacrificing?!?! You get to sit at home as I drive to all these doctor appointments and spread my legs! You are STILL IN BED when I've been on the road for an hour! So I'm SOOOO sorry you are sacrificing!" Again, I really said this.
Matt then went outside with our dog, and I cut up my cauliflower for the soup, alone. Twenty minutes later he peaked through the front door, and there I was, sitting on the couch thumbing through a catalogue. It was almost as if this was a normal Tuesday. We then enjoyed our soup, and yes, even the bread.