And my heart ached. I wish with all of my heart I could give Thing 1 her baby sister and Thing 2 her baby brother. But its just not that simple.
There are appointments to be made and tests to be done. Blood to draw and ultrasounds to spread for. Shots to shoot and pills to take.
Plus I seem to be sabotaging myself.
If I were to go to the RE today he would tell me to lose weight. I need to get back to where I was when we went through the IUI that gave us the girls. At least. Do I go to the gym regularly? No. Do I watch my carbs? No. Do I drink enough water? No. Ice Cream? Check. Bread? Check. Huff and puff up the stairs? You betcha.
The question is why. And I have absolutely no freaking idea.
Or so I claim.
Deep down I know why. I don't want to do it. I don't want the procedures and pain and then failure. I don't want to head down that spiral of escalating intervention and come out the other side with nothing to show for it but a zero balance in the bank. I don't think I can handle it. Especially with the girls watching every moment.
Instead I say, "When the baby weight comes off..." and know it never will.
But we've pretty much hit critical mass over here. I'll be 37 in January and Aba will be...older. It'll be hard but barely doable to get the weight off for a birthday visit to the RE. Very hard. Especially with holidays and traveling. But I'll do it. As Aba says, "what the girls want, the girls get."