Wine Whine

I woke up in the middle of the night last night, thinking, "I hate wine."

I never thought the day (or night) would come. I mean, this wasn't the hungover "I'll never drink again" vow after a bender. This was the result of two glasses of good wine with ample food. It simply made me feel off somehow, completely and totally.

Then this morning, yes, the spots. They returned albeit ever so briefly. And like any infertile woman's mind, mine began to race. Oh shit, it was the stupid, stupid wine! Why, oh why did I pretend I could be like other people and have a little Cote-du-Rhone? That I could enjoy some tiramisu and tortellini? Or, the mind races on, was it the little run and weights at the gym this morning? Could that be it? Does alcohol depress the thyroid? What about mascarpone?

I wish, when all is said and done, that I could just trust my body. That I could just say, okay, I'll put the good stuff in. You do whatever is right for you. If you don't want to bear children, fine. I want to give up, but gracefully. Utterly. There are many, many things I'd like to do in my life that are completely independent of motherhood. If my guy wasn't so hooked on the idea... But that's the way he feels and I can't change that.

The spotting made me sad because this was the first cycle in a few months when I had a lovely, lovely midcycle, with lots of FM and plenty of sex. I though this was going to be a good one. Now, I don't know what to think or to do, or if doing something is the answer in the end.

At least I'm feeling a hell of a lot better on a higher dose of 'roid. I have more energy and feel a lot warmer and sharper. I'm making headway on my dis, too, which is fantastic. I've started writing, and I actually like what I've got so far. Two steps forward, one back.