Dana over at House*Tweaking recently introduced me to Polyvore.
An unhealthy addiction has since been formed 🙂
A little bit of hypothetical interior design is way more important that study, right?
Has anybody else jumped on the Polyvore bandwagon?
I outed myself to a couple of friends at work today. Not in a big way – it was relevant to our conversation so I just threw into the dialogue that I’d had fertility treatments to conceive. I’m not particularly secretive about this, so it’s really no big deal. Except that it left me feeling uncomfortable.
The thing is, I always feel like a fraud when I use the word “infertile” to describe myself. I have a child, after all, so can I really be considered infertile?
But how else do I describe myself? Somehow calling myself infertile feels disrespectful to all those men and women still in the trenches, disrespectful to those who struggled much harder and longer than I did.
But it also feels disrespectful of me to ignore that part of my life. I mean, in a way I earned the right to use that word. I paid my dues in tears.
What word do you use to describe your IF status? Or, put another way, in your opinion what does it take for someone to be considered “infertile”?
No, not that two week wait.
Tomorrow marks two weeks until my exams start. And this TWW is going to be oh-so-painful. I’ve been studying since February and a few weeks ago I ran out of steam. I just don’t want to do it anymore, but there is so much still to learn.
I don’t think I’m going to pass. Which isn’t the end of the world – I can sit again in April (you know, once I pay another $3,000 for the privilege) – but it still doesn’t feel good. I know my colleagues and supervisors are expecting me to pass. My family are expecting me to pass. I’ve never not passed anything in my life.
The problem with not passing is that I will have to sacrifice another 6 months to intensive study. Six months I’d rather spend reconnecting up with all my long-neglected friends, devoting some time to my relationship, trying to get better at my job. Six months during which I’d rather spend more of my time with this fellow:
I miss this kid.