I feel. . .pretty normal. Although I swear I'm starting to have CM, which can't be possible on CD7. Again, I'm not getting too excited yet, and I hope the trend continues. Two more days of pills. . .hey, I'm more than halfway there with the pills, and almost to the sexathon portion of the program!
Anyway, I was just reading a part of Mel's blog, and she wrote something that so completely resonates with me, although she was using it to describe why some fertile people (ie, fertile heterosexuals) don't understand what it's like for the rest of this universe (and specifically, in this case, a lesbian couple who did IVF at the same time and transferred each other's embryos at the same time--which, as a side note, I think is pretty damn cool. Each woman being either a birthmom or a biomom to the babes is just a very cool way to family build. But I digress. . .). Mel wrote,
Listen, there are those who have never had to struggle for something, never had to push open a door that was only slightly ajar, and so they won't get it.
This sentence perfectly described my current struggle with someone in my life right now. I've been there for this person during some recent rough times, and we've become pretty close. But for recently, however, she has lived a pretty charmed life. And now that the smoke is clearing in her life, I'm discovering that she really isn't there for me to provide the same support that I have provided.
On the one hand, I'm sure that she is completely preoccupied with everything going on in her life. On the other hand, once 35 is in the rearview mirror, doesn't everyone have five million things that vie for their attention? You've got to make the time for the people who are important to you. I'm left to wonder whether our relationship isn't somehow based on me providing the shoulder to cry on and her doing the crying. Everyone could use a little propping up every now and again, and with job stuff and TTC stuff and other stuff, my "now and again" is, well, NOW.
We still talk all of the time. . .and mostly, I listen. I celebrate her triumphs and I lament with her her sorrows. I am still there. But I'm sort of feeling like when I talk, she isn't hearing me, and I'm starting to feel invisible and irrelevant. I can't help but think that she doesn't even see my struggles, despite the fact that I've told her that I'm struggling and despite her own recent troubles, and a part of me wonders whether it is because she has never had to struggle for any of the things that I am struggling with right now.
If only people would stop and imagine what it is like to wear different slippers. What a very different world it would be.