I’m happy to report I haven’t murdered anyone since Tuesday, which is a miracle.
Today is my last day of the fertility meds, and I have to say, aside from a tearful two hours of Oprah* the other day, it’s been a lot easier than I was expecting. I guess it’s because the drugs were already in my system? Or maybe the human body can only cry so many times in a two-week period… either way, I haven’t punched anyone, or fought anyone in a parking lot, and my husband hasn’t left me. Success!!
Well, except for the hot flashes. Holy hell, I feel like I’m on fire, all the time. And it comes out of nowhere. I’m worried I’m slowly freezing Mike to death (and if you’ve ever met my husbang, you know how hard that is.) (that’s what she said.)
Tomorrow is my last day of work, which I’m looking forward to, so I don’t have to work for crazy people anymore — but also dreading, because I’ll miss my friends, and my paycheck. So, I’m looking for a new job — just like millions of other people. That should be fun.
It still doesn’t seem like it’s really happening — I guess it’ll sink in Monday morning when I wake up and don’t have to go anywhere (except to the doctor, for more blood work, and to scramble around trying to get ready for my first Arts Festival…). I guess I should try to solidify that Housewife Schedule I was talking about, so I know I have something to do every day. Also I promised Mike that if I can’t find a new job, the least I can do is cook and clean — and maybe wear an apron around the house or something. So we all have that to look forward to.
Man, I wish I could get paid to just Pin things on Pinterest every day.
I would be amazing.
At least now I’ll have time to cook everything I’ve pinned to my Things I Need to Eat board.
*I watched the first Oprah knowing I was in for some tears — but the second one was supposed to be about childhood obesity. I figured that couldn’t be so bad. So I tuned in, only to find out the description was wrong — it was Oprah’s most memorable guests, and each segment ended with me sobbing, red-faced and hiccuping, on the sofa. Stupid DVR.