I'm not sure if I ever mentioned to you how much I love Dunkin Donuts coffee.
But I love it, like, a lot. If it had a leg, it is possible that I would hump it. Or I would have to try really hard to refrain from humping it. Or I would only refrain from humping it because I wouldn't want to burn my Lady Business or waste the delicious coffee that would surely spill from the gyration of my lumpy body against that sexy styrofoam cup.
It's pretty much the Bon to my Jovi, is what I'm trying to say.
But I've been making monthly goals, and my goal since September was to stop getting Dunkin Donuts Coffee every morning because it costs $2/day.
I would share my other goals with you, but,
a.) I don't want everyone to know the asinine things for which I strive, like my number one November goal to Be Nice, OH MAH HELL WHO HAS TO RESOLVE TO BE NICE, and,
b.) because I don't really succeed every month (like, November. Because AM NOT NICE, like, at all, must aim lower in December - perhaps just be tolerable? Or just accept failure, which would be easier and markedly more enjoyable).
Anyway, I was telling someone the other day, "It's been a long time since I got a coffee from Dunkin Donuts. I just got one yesterday." And, don't worry, she did point out that I am possibly (definitely) the victim of a mental defect.
I was thinking today that it has been a really long time since I had an Infertility Bitterness Episode! Except, it hasn't been a long time at all really.
Since it's open enrollment time, I have to start making the big decision about doing a Frozen Embryo Transfer. And the prospect of it all just makes me a whole lot STABBY.
(I'm sure that if you read this blog, you know what STABBY means, but if not, see #1 here.)
I feel like I've done a pretty good job of suppressing The Bitter. I can handle pregnancy announcements pretty gracefully (like, no crying or shaking of fists at the heavens). Baby showers are not a problem. Accidental pregnancies make me roll my eyes, but do not cause days of insanity. It's just not really in the front of my mind. I'm more worried now about people whose asses fit in their jeans two weeks post partum when I can barely button my work pants.
(WHORES, you skinny people! All of you! Dirty whores!)
So I was kind of surprised when I got my Open Enrollment memo and was totally pissed off because I realized that we would have to decide on baybee #2 now for next year so that we can contribute to our medical reimbursement account.
Why do I so desperately want to be the person who can make fertility decisions at the drop of a hat? I've had plenty of time to realize that this isn't a reality for us. Why must there be so much turmoil and hand wringing and FIST SHAKING?!
I'm like a bad after school special, except instead of being jealous of the popular girls, I'm jealous of the fertile ones.
I'm pissed that I have to decide a year in advance, and I have to call doctors and rearrange my work schedule and communicate with my insurance and my doctors and I have to be really nice to people in November so that they will be more tolerable of me next spring when I am shooting up Lupron and shooting off The Angry.
It annoys me that people can decide one month to try to have a baby, then have sex, then find out the next month that they are pregnant. FOR FREE. WITHOUT DRUGS (well, I hear that crack really helps with fertility)! WITHOUT STIRRUPS! WITHOUT MEDICAL BILLING CODES!
God, I want to punch myself in the ovary over the whole ordeal, but there it is.
I'm sexual over Dunkin Donuts, and I'm angry about misshapen sperm.