So, here's the deal. I have two choices.
Choice number one: I continue to cry a lot. I continue to feel sorry for myself and for our situation. I carry on feeling like shit every time I see that a Facebook friend is pregnant with their second, third, fifth child. I continue to indulge that twist in my stomach when I notice just how big DS is getting. I carry on panicking about the 'right decision' and not allow myself to relax and just be carried along by life. I continue to keep myself awake at night wracked with guilt around my infertility. I continue to feel an irrational, angry burn whenever mums moan about how tired/stressed/hard their life is with their abundance of children. I allow this situation to entirely take over my life and the lives of my family. I wake up one morning and realise my big boy has become a bigger boy and I missed it.
Choice number two: I put on my big girls pants and suck it up.
I go with choice number two.
Just so you know.
Watch this space...
(P.S I blame the HRT)
This may not be the 'right' post to comment on, but I wanted to thank you for your blog and your honest insights into the grieving that accompanies a POF diagnosis.
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