Actually, I am. I am going to take a minute to throw myself a pity party because GUESS WHO HAD TO GO OUT AND BUY NEW BRAS? Me.
Why?
Oh, I went from a 34B to a 36C in like two days. That's why.
Effing progesterone. Effing prednisone. I hate them both. I would rather shoot myself in the ass with a needle than suffer these godawful suppositories for the next 9 weeks of my life. Even if this does take, I'm on them through Week 8 of pregnancy. (Seriously? Haven't I undergone enough indignities to last a lifetime?)
Imagine a Pez Dispenser from hell. Imagine inserting a giant white pill the size of a kumquat up your lady bits three times a day. Imagine having to change your extra-long panty liners at least that often as the Progest-a-pez has to leak out somewhere.
It's not pleasant. I look and feel, well, pregnant. How unfair is that? I've got a lot of respect for any woman who has made it to this stage in her IVF cycle multiple times with nothing to show for it. Woof. Let's talk hot flashes, menstrual-like cramps, facial flushing (hello, Rosacea - ain't no "glow"), fluid retention, a general sense of squishiness, cravings, tender, throbbing breasts...
And the steroids? Also fun.
OK, enough. Pity party's over.
Just wanted to say it is definitely not a picnic right now. Thank goodness I have a light week of school work. I found myself tearing up at random moments like during "Top Chef" for example. Padma wanted a second serving of Shirley's traditional Chinese New Year dumplings? Shirley got emotional and so did I. It was SO MOVING. What?
Also embarrassing: found myself gazing longingly at the tent-like sparkly maternity wear at Kohl's today. Considered buying it because I feel like it would fit me now - of course it wouldn't but it's all right there, within reach, but not just yet.
Don't ask me what I had for lunch. It involved roast beef, provolone and a ton of jus. Ew. Excuse me while I walk 15 miles now...
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