This post has some interesting news in it, I promise.
But first: yesterday sucked.
I am not sure why. I pretty much woke up grumpy and stayed that way for the rest of the day. I know that progesterone and I are not a good mix, so that probably had something to do with it. I also am doing those darned Vivelle "dots," and I remember this general teed-off-at-the-world-for-no-apparent-reason feeling from my Lupron days (they seem so long ago, somehow). Also, as I posted, I didn't feel an inkling of pregnant. I know, it's so early, but I was hoping for a light to shine down on my belling and the word pregnant to float above my abdomen. Or something subtle like that.
I spent my day wrapping Christmas gifts and putting up the last of my Christmas decorations. I had everything pretty much done a few weeks ago, except one key feature: my nativity scene. I just love it, it is from the Willow Tree collection (the little figurines that look as if they are carved from wood). My grandmother gave me the first piece the Christmas before she died and my parents and siblings have given me the rest of the pieces over several birthdays. Just putting it up each year makes me so happy and each piece has special meaning attached to the person who gave it to me. Last year when we were putting away the bin with the nativity pieces in it, somehow, it got put in with the outdoor decorations. So this year, I couldn't find it and I was devastated. I kept picturing accidentally throwing it out with the mass amount of things that we donated at the end of the season. My husband finally got around to putting some outdoor lights this weekend and ta-da! There it was.
So, I lovingly put up each piece and made it look just right. I admired it for a moment and then went to make dinner. My husband came home about an hour later and started playing with our dogs and. . . "somehow" the ball he threw landed on my nativity and broke two of the pieces - one of which had been the gift from my grandmother.
I lost it. I don't mean I cried. I don't mean I yelled. I don't mean I threw things. I managed to do all three at once, while turning what my husband described as "a violent shade of purple." I told him to get in the car and not come back until he had replacement pieces for the broken figurines. He used crazy glue to put them back together and you honestly can't tell, but I was still angry at him for the rest of the night.
Earlier in the day, I had a fight with my mom on the phone. It started innocently enough, she asked about baby names and I told her what we were thinking about and she started laughing at our choice of a middle name (which, incidentally, is my husband's dead father's middle name - Patrick). She didn't just giggle or snuffle out a quick guffaw, either, it was a hyenna laugh that kept going and going. I started to cry, she kind of sort of apologized, and then brought it up five minutes later by saying, "You're not really going to name my grandson Patrick [Last Name Here]."
Once again, I lost it.
Yeah, yesterday wasn't pretty. But I am in a better mood today. Getting used to the progesterone? Maybe, but I doubt it. Getting used to the Vivelle dots. Unlikely, but sure. Seeing all the lovely comments you guys left me yesterday while I wallowed in my misery. That made me feel all warm and tingly inside. But something else is cheering me up today. . .
My husband says that I smell.