A brief, failed experiment.

Want to hear something super sad?

Probably not. But it was all so melodramatic in my mind that I’m going to tell you anyway.

On Friday I went to Madison for another round of IUI (undefined acronym, I know, you can look it up if you really want to know). TMI, I know. And sad in it’s own right. But here’s the really sad part… afterward, as I was laying there on the table for the requisite 10 minutes (nothing romantic about baby making this way, let me tell you), tears just started rolling down my cheeks and, because of the angle my head was at, they welled right up in my ears until my stupid ears were full of stupid tears which made me cry even harder because it felt bad.

The whole thing was, as I said, very melodramatic.

Fortunately, I had not worn mascara that morning. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I forgot to bring it with me and we had stayed the night at my sister- and brother-in-law’s in Madison (super grateful for their hospitality despite their absence– Sister Doctor is busy criss-crossing the country in search of a surgery residency… everybody wants a piece of her, so proud!).

I was in full on self-pity mode pretty much the rest of the day (confession: kind of still am) and I decided in all of my upset that makeup was super stupid and that I just wasn’t going to wear it anymore. So I didn’t on Saturday, despite going to a lovely Christmas party Saturday evening. And I didn’t on Sunday, even though we went to church and out to dinner. Even on Monday, today, I managed to head to work sans makeup.

But I think that as of today, this experiment is going to be over.

(If only all of my experiments in grad school could have failed this quickly…)

Not so much because I feel like I need makeup for anyone else, necessarily, but because I feel ugly and tired. How is that mascara can make a person feel untired as opposed to just looking untired, I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure that is the case.

And I’m pretty sure that tomorrow, I will wear mascara. At least.

It’s such a struggle though. I don’t want to need to wear makeup, for myself or anybody else. I don’t enjoy putting on makeup like a lot of people do, I just don’t. But I honestly feel better when I’m wearing it… better… prettier… more put together… I don’t know what.

Am I conceited or just insecure? Am I wearing makeup because of societal pressure or am I not just to prove a point? I don’t know what the answer is.

Maybe it doesn’t really matter either way.

Maybe mascara really isn’t the point at all.

I may be stretching this analogy… I am definitely stretching this analogy… but I feel like that mascara is the family I want so badly. I don’t know what I’ll look like with a family, but I’m pretty sure I want to put it on and wear it forever and ever. And in this case I am certain, it’s not societal pressure that’s fueling my desire. It’s legit. And I’m sad. Sad enough that some days I can’t even wear mascara because then that, too, would be pooled up in my ears.

Christmas is feeling especially tough. I want to be pretty in photos… by wearing makeup. But I also want to emulate the beautiful photos of happy families lining my cupboard fronts, a new one each day, beautiful moms and dads with their beautiful and happy babies. I love seeing them, I’m so happy for them. But it also makes me want (to be pretty) and not want (because I feel like crying) another coat of mascara all over again, every day.

On Thursday evening, Seth and I are heading to my sister’s house in Michigan. We’re going to celebrate my niece’s third birthday and Christmas with my mom’s side of the family. We’re going to have a blast and there will be a whole lot of love, but the nagging feeling inside me won’t go away until after the Christmas holiday when I find out whether the IUI worked or not.

Patience… patience…

This experiment, the one where I try to start a family, is turning out a lot more like grad school– long, protracted, painful. While the results were equivocal, at least the mascara experiment was quick.

Always with the patience. The best things in life are worth waiting for, or so I hear.

18 thoughts on “A brief, failed experiment.

  1. Oh, how I love you! When you ache, I ache, my darling girl. The image of you, alone, lying there with tears running to your ears is heart breaking. Hurry over her so I can give you one of those hugs you hate so much, but make me feel like you are part of me once again. XOXO

    1. Hi Rachel, I’m one of Abby’s friends (also a Rachel) and I was wondering if I could send you an email. Would that be alright? My husband and I are struggling through the same thing now and I just wanted to send you some encouragement.

      1. Absolutely and of course! Any friend of Abby’s is more than just a friend of mine– I trust Abby’s judgement in all things, with the exception of vocabulary 😉

  2. I thought your blog was crying with me, but maybe that’s snow? Waiting is so hard. Prayers for a restful mind until good news rolls in.

    I was thinking about makeup the other day and how men don’t wear it but they don’t look as terrible as I feel when I don’t wear it, and I don’t know why… wish I had some awesome insight, but I’m with you, I’m just going to keep wearing it because I feel like I look happier and more approachable.

    1. It’s snow! No need to worry! I like “restful mind”… that’s a better way of saying it than patience. Thanks for that 🙂

      I completely agree about women with no make up, but I have a feeling that might be societal– makeup on women has become our norm!

  3. I am so happy for you that you are going to make It to Michigan to celebrate. I know you weren’t sure if that was going to happen this year. If you have any spare moments in your quick visit, call me- Erin and I (and Dan too if he is invited) will gladly meet you halfway. Love you, my dear friend 🙂

    1. Thanks, Em! I’ll have to chat with my sister (the boss and cruise director) regarding my quick trip and I’ll let you know! I’d love, love, love to see Erin! (And you and Dan, of course…)

  4. You are worthy of motherhood. It’s unfair that your journey thus far has been so long and difficult. I don’t think the scene that you painted with your words is melodramatic at all. I’ve cried over far less. I’m hoping and praying for a positive outcome from your procedure–but I know that you will find a path to satisfaction regardless of the outcome.

  5. I can only imagine the difficult journey this is for both you and Seth. I hope you get good news soon, and that you have a wonderful time with your family in the meantime.

    1. Thanks, Rachel… a wonderful time is definitely on the docket. With one niece who is turning three and another who just discovered that she can make LOUD NOISES at six months, how could it not be fun??? 😉

  6. We’re all on your side sweetie and hoping the best for you and Seth. I’m sending you a long-distance hug and will give you a real one this weekend. I love you!

  7. Have I ever mentioned how much I just absolutely love you? ( perhaps this is a better comment for the next post- too overly familiar? Although we have known each other for almost 10 years now, so nope- it’s ok!).

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