Saturday, March 12, 2011

I want a cigarette...

...really bad.  Like really, really bad.

This past week I've been a major Debbie Downer here, and I'm about to be again.  I've been sad and angry because we weren't able to take advantage of our first Clomid cycle and have to wait a whole month to try again.  Yesterday the husband and I had a talk about it and we may not be on the same page TTC-wise anymore.  He's worried about our finances again, which is understandable.  He's felt a lot of pressure being the sole breadwinner, and he's not sure now's the time.

The mistake I was referring to in the last post was never getting a job when we moved here.  I tried, but not as hard as I could have.  Every time I attempted to my anxiety would take over and I would fail miserably.  It was humiliating.  Eventually it got the better of me and I just stopped because we were getting by, but we'd be a lot better off now if I'd been able to.  All I can do is try again when we decide where we're moving to in May and pray that I can hold it together.  I feel so weak and like a pathetic excuse for an adult sometimes.

We've got about two weeks before I would take the next round of Clomid, so we're going to think about it for awhile and make a decision then.  I hate the idea of stopping all together, so I suggested the NTNP approach.  I guess we'll see.

I was feeling better this morning and ready to write a happy blog post, but then I got a letter in the mail from my father.  I grew up knowing nothing about him and first met him a few years ago.  I've only been face to face with the man twice since then and haven't talked to him in over two years now.  Our conversations back then started out good but got shorter and shorter with every call.  Each time we hung up he said he'd call again soon, but he usually never did, and eventually I just stopped calling.

In the letter he said that not long after the last time I saw him he was in a bad accident.  He was hurt and had several surgeries.  He was out of work so long he was fired and hasn't been able to find anything since.  From the sounds of it he slipped into a depression and is just now starting to find his way out of it.  He apologized for not staying in contact and is scared that he disappointed me.  He wants me to call or write or even stop by to see him.  I don't know what to do.  I would call, but it's always awkward and I can barely understand half the things he says... he's got a very thick Southern accent.  He lives ten hours away, and I'll be driving through there next month on my way home to see my eastern NC peeps, but I don't know if that would be the best thing.  I think I'll write for now.  I've always been better at that anyway.

He ended his letter with "Love, Your Daddy".  I never got to call anyone Daddy and I cry every time I see those words written from or referring to him.  That's not his fault though.  He didn't even know I was his until I first found out about him and sought him out three years ago.  He'd suspected, but wasn't completely sure.  He's a kind man who has been a wonderful father to his other three children, and I wish I'd had the opportunity to know him as I was growing up.

So why am I scared to talk to him now?

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