Irrational Moves of a Brokenhearted Infertile

I needed a butter dish.

I don’t know why I needed a butter dish (seeing as I eat margarine), but at some point yesterday I decided that I needed a butter dish.

I needed it right away.

So, I drove to the grocery store and I combed the kitchen utensils aisle until I found a butter dish.

Just one.

And I put it in my cart.

Because I had an entire cart for one butter dish.

Then I went and bought butter. Not because I have ever used butter with any kind of regularity, but because my butter dish needed butter.

As I was checking out, the woman ringing me up said “I haven’t seen butter dishes in a while!” and suddenly I realized how crazy this was. I was grieving. I was mourning. And I was buying a butter dish.

I drove home and I grabbed a large trash bag. I took it to the bathroom and threw in all of the pee sticks that were lined meticulously on the back of my toilet.

Then I realized I had an entire trash bag for 8 pee sticks.

So I threw in the Prometrium caplets as well.

And the panty liners (even though one could theoretically assume I may have a need for panty liners at some point in my future - they were there, so they went into the trash bag.)

I searched for anything else related to this fiasco that I could trash. I walked into my bedroom and saw all the pamphlets and packets. I threw those in. I glanced at the information Teeny had given me about how to support a pregnancy in the first month. I chucked that.

I spied the picture of my embie on my bedroom wall. I marched over, tore it down, and…

Couldn’t throw it away. I just couldn’t. It was ridiculous and silly and far too sentimental for an embie that never even attached, but I couldn't throw it away.

Instead, I put it in the sperm donor book I made. Tucked safely away where I don’t have to look at it.

Once all the trash was outside, I sat down at my computer and checked my e-mail. I didn’t cry - I hadn't cried in hours. I interacted on the community as though everything in my life was normal and fine, because that’s the only thing I knew how to do. Then I hopped over to eHarmony and read an e-mail from the random internet boy that actually made me smile - and I was glad he made me smile. He mentioned something about giving me full disclosure, and then he listed his flaws.

And that is when I overstepped the line. I gave him full disclosure as well. I told him everything. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew it didn’t matter now; that this information could come up at a later date. Perhaps after we had actually met.

But I didn’t care. I didn’t like that there was one single person in this world who didn’t know what I was going through.

And so I told him. Knowing that I would probably never hear from him again.

I did hear from him again though, shortly after I hit send. But what resulted can only be described as the most awkward phone conversation any two people have ever had.

Note to self: new men in your life do not need to know this information right away. They certainly do not need to be told the day you find out you are losing a pregnancy, and they don’t necessarily need to know about the two embies on ice.

And when you can't even discuss your loss with your best friends, you probably shouldn't attempt to discuss it with some random dude you've never even met.

These are the irrational moves of a brokenhearted infertile. I am now the proud owner of a butter dish and some butter. My house is pee stick free (although, I am trying to come up with a way to sue EPT), which is nice because my bathroom no longer smells like urine. And I have managed to kill any possibility of romance between the boy and I.

But somehow, I am laughing about most of this. Even the boy. That conversation was far too awkward for the two of us to have ever been meant for anything more. Better to weed him out now. I need some space to heal anyway.

I am fine. My brain is jumbled and I’m not sure why I’m doing the things I’m doing, but I know it’s all part of the process. I know I am just getting to the place I need to be.

I feel like a bit of a lunatic, and I am willing to bet that my reactions to just about everything are stunted and wrong right now, but I am surviving.

I am surviving.

And at least now, I have a butter dish.