I haven’t had a whole lot to write about lately, because I’m in a bit of a funk and I don’t know what to do with it. It seems to be a combination of my frustration with not getting pregnant and the fact that I’ve gained a few pounds over the last few months. Not a significant amount, I just hit a number on the scale that makes me uncomfortable. I came home on Monday and (literally) cried on Dave’s shoulder about the fact that I hate my body that “just wants to get fat and not make babies.” I feel defective. I hate that.
The pregnancy bit is frustrating because I’ve started charting my ovulation, and all it’s proven so far is that there is really no discernable pattern, and maybe I’m not even ovulating at all. I’m still taking my temperature every morning like a good little patient, but every time I go write it on the chart and realize – again – that nothing there looks the way it should, it makes me want to cry. And there’s nothing I can do about it, except keep charting for a few more months so I have something in writing to give to my doctor to prove that maybe there really is something wrong with me. It’s pretty disheartening. The suck factor there, in case you were wondering, is pretty much through the roof.
As for the weight thing – yeah, I know, it’s easily correctable, and I’ve been slacking. So the suck factor isn’t as high on that one, but it’s still bad. I haven’t been working out like I should, and I’ve probably eaten my body weight in Cadbury creme eggs during this past Easter season, so I’m aware that it’s my own damn fault. I’ve started a new regimen this week; Dave and I have been exercising, and I’m not allowing myself to buy copious amounts of junk food when I go grocery shopping. (I’m really bad in the supermarket. I tend to hoarde food.) I usually crave sugar at night, so I’ve started having strawberries and Cool Whip as my nighttime snack, rather than cookies or cereal or whatever. Also, I often grab a candy bar out of the vending machine at work after lunch, so today I brought a fruit bowl, and I’m going to try to start doing that every day.
Like most women, I have always had (and probably always will have) issues about my body image, as Dave can attest. The poor guy often has to hear me whine about clothes that I don’t want to wear because it’s “too grabby around my stomach” or whatever imaginary flaw I find with it. He’s always telling me that it’s in my head, and I know he’s right – really, I do – but I can’t seem to make my brain accept that. I guess the sudden revelation about it now is a combination of the scale (the dreaded, dreaded scale) and the fact that I recently bought our plane tickets to my cousin’s wedding in New Orleans this June. [Aside: hey Alphagal, are you & SNG going to be there? I think everyone else will be.]
For those of you who have never been there, New Orleans in the summer is just slightly hotter than the Fifth Concentric Circle of Hell, so breathable fabrics (cotton, linen) are pretty much mandatory. The problem is that I live in the Northwest, so every skirt or dress that I own is some kind of polyester/spandex-y/whatever-blend, and basically: I would die. Also, the wedding is at 6:00 in the evening, which implies that it needs to be at least somewhat dressy – and again, I live in the Northwest, where Birkenstocks are considered perfectly appropriate business attire, so all of my skirts (all 3 or 4 of them) are pretty casual.
So, I’m going to have to go shopping to buy something to wear to the wedding. And honestly? The thought of shopping for clothes when I’m in this “I hate my body” state of mind is enough to send me spiraling into a full-on panic attack. The wedding isn’t until June 10th, so I have time to drop 5 to 10 pounds between now and then. I’m honestly terrified to set goals like that for myself, though, because I have a wicked fear of failure. So I’m trying (trying!) to not think about the scale and to focus just on feeling more comfortable in my clothes. Hopefully then I can go shopping and buy a dress without bursting into tears in the dressing room at Macy’s.
And now you know why my posts lately have been sporadic and not very interesting. Maybe now that I’ve written about it and gotten it off my chest, I can snap out of this funk and get back to my usual goofy self. One can only hope, anyway.