I came home from work last Thursday, and Babe said to me, "I read your blog today."
(Gasp!) What did you think? (He hasn't read it since my first post)
"I think you sound like you are doing fine on paper."
So you don't think I'm doing well in real life?
"It just sounds like on paper you can sort out what is realistic and logical and what isn't, but in real life, you're having a hard time with that. I'm also surprised you didn't bash me on your blog since you always seem to be so angry. It seems I can't say or do anything right. I don't know how to fix this."
I love you, Babe. I know I'm having a really hard time with this. I'm sorry. I don't know how to compartmentalize all these irrational and negative feelings that I have.
"You know I love you, right?"
"You know I'll love you whether we have a baby or not, right?"
I hope so.
"I do love you. This infertility does not define you. I love you. Why can't you understand that?"
(through massive tears) I'm not me. I don't love myself right now.
"But there is suffering in life, and there are defeats. No one can avoid them. But it's better to lose some of the battles in the struggles for your dreams than to be defeated without ever knowing what you're fighting for." (Paulo Coelho)
5 hours ago