Monday, April 28, 2008
It's not easy to be married to me. Not even on a good day. I can be impulsive. And grumpy. And demanding. And picky. I can be a blanket hog. And I'm not the world's best housekeeper.
I am all of these things times ten when I'm taking fertility drugs. Except the blanket hog part, since the drugs give me hot flashes akin to menopause. There are days where words fly out of my mouth and I immediately wish I could take them back. There are days when the littlest error on his part (what do you MEAN you forgot to let the dog outside before coming to bed?) is cause for me to be pissy for hours.
My husband is a trooper. He lives with me, and loves me anyway. He doesn't respond to my harsh words. He indulges my whims. And he lets me cry. A lot. He may not be hopped up on hormones, but I'd venture to say those drugs do just as much to his psyche as they do to mine.
It's easy for me to feel alone in all of this. Especially when I'm sitting in a waiting room full of pregnant women. Or when I'm laying awake at 3am with hormone induced insomnia, wondering if sticking my head in the freezer would help cool me off. Trust me, I've got the the middle of the night pity party down.
But when it comes down to it, I have an amazing man by my side. The man who accompanied me through a day of doctors appointments. The man who held my hand while I was poked and prodded. The man who sat with me in the waiting room full of pregnant women and reminded me that someday that will be me.
I could not have asked for a better husband. He's my perfect match.