When we decided to pause TTC and get healthy, I looked at the calendar and thought, you can do this. It’s only 4 months. You can be maniacally healthy for 4 months if your prize is a baby.
It turns out that I can’t be maniacally healthy for 4 months no matter what the prize is. If I could be, I wouldn’t have taken 4 weeks off from dieting over the holidays and I would likely be well beyond my goal already. Even now, while I am certainly on track, I would not categorize my behavior as maniacally healthy.
I really would have thought I could do it. I thought that if I just kept baby baby baby in the back of my mind constantly, it would be like a magic pill that would cause me to stop wanting cupcakes and margaritas and melty cheese.
It didn’t work.
I’ve learned to negotiate with myself. If I eat a cupcake, I run an extra couple of miles. If I am desperate for a margarita, I drink lots of water and run a couple of extra miles. My philosophy on weight loss basically boils down to: Will run for carbs.
All around me on the internet, there are women with PCOS going whole hog gluten free and paleo. They ditch their morning coffee in favor of herbal tea. They don’t allow a margarita to pass their lips once a week.
I can’t help but think that those women must want a baby so much more than I do. It makes me feel like I must not want this as badly as I think I want it. If I did, I’d be more like them, right?
The stubborn part of me is SCREAMING at me from within: STOP COMPARING YOURSELF TO OTHER PEOPLE!
The scared part of me is sobbing: It’s too hard. It’s all just too hard.
I don’t know what the right answer is anymore. There are days when I feel like I’m on top of the world. My pants are too big! I’ve lost 25 pounds! I can run MILES! We are SO getting pregnant!
And then there are days like today when I feel like it’s probably not enough. Like maybe it will never be enough. I will never be enough.
I remember sitting next to my grandma at her organ when I was a very little girl. She would play and sing, que sera, sera—whatever will be, will be—the future’s not ours to see. It always sounded so hopeful to me then. Now, it just makes me sad.
What if whatever isn’t what I want?