This Post Is Brought To You By The Letter "F"

F as in Failure.  F as in Freak.  F as in Faulty, Fatigued, and Forlorn.  F as in Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, I failed my mock cycle.

Taking the Plunge

For weeks I've been standing on the edge of the high-dive, scared to leap off into the unknown.  I was paralyzed, unable to commit to an egg donor and unwilling to leave the safety of my ledge and free-fall into another IVF cycle.  Those waters are deep and treacherous.  Last time, I almost drowned.

But you can't live on the edge indefinitely.  Sooner or later you have to screw your courage to the sticking place, take a deep breath, close your eyes, cross your fingers and hope for the best.  Eventually you have to jump.

Infertiles Hate You, Too

Weighing My Options

We've been trying to select an egg donor for the past few weeks and still haven't made a decision.

The dilemma, as I wrote the other day, boils down to one basic question:  how much does it matter if our egg donor (and therefore our potential child) looks nothing like me?

Shopping for Eggs

For the past two weeks we've been trying to select an egg donor.

In some ways, it's not so different from shopping for anything else online.

On the Road

I just took a week off.  I declared a vacation from work and worry and went on the road with Mr Wren.  He had business in Chicago and I had never been there, so I asked for the time off work and packed my bags.

We were heading to the Windy City, so of course I packed a jacket. But in another (metaphorical) suitcase I also packed away all thoughts of babies, lack of babies, lost babies, potential babies, and the terrifying possibility of life without babies. This latter suitcase, and as much excess emotional baggage as I could shed, I happily left on the curb as we set off on our road trip.

The Big Reveal

I haven't written for awhile, because I've struggled with the writing of this post.  This is the post that I didn't want to write, that I was afraid to write, that I didn't know how to write.

You see, I haven't told you the whole story.

Wishful Thinking

The old saying goes: if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.  Well, if wishes were horses, I'd have several hundred stables full and would be trying to figure out how to trade them all for a baby.

The Best Friends I Never Met

Infertility killed my social life.

I'm Zero Weeks and Craving a Baby

Be warned.  There's a dangerous new "game" going around on Facebook. Just like the meme where you put the color of your bra in your status update, this is intended to somehow raise awareness about breast cancer among women and as an added bonus, drive men crazy wondering what the heck all the ladies are talking about.  Fun!

Except, not.