When It Rains, It Pours

So that zen feeling from a few days ago?  Completely gone.  Call it a delayed reaction, or perhaps I've just reached my limit for shit sandwiches being handed to me wrapped in pretty packaging.

Monday was the official beta.  Negative, of course.  No surprises there.  What was surprising (shocking, even?) was that after inviting my sister to breakfast that morning (the morning when I officially get the news that genetic children of mine and my husband likely will never be, mind you, the morning when I know FOR SURE that we have wasted close to $40,000 on NOTHING BUT HEARTBREAK) -- well, this is the morning she chooses to tell me that she is pregnant.

She found out Friday, so it's not like she couldn't wait a few DAYS (or weeks, even) to tell me. She is 5 weeks, 1 day. It's not like I even NEEDED to know yet.  I mean, WHO THE FUCK DOES THAT?  Who says, in a nutshell, well, I'm so sorry it didn't work for you.  You seem to be handling it so well.  Oh, by the way, I know YOU can't get pregnant, but guess what?  I am!  Aren't you happy for me?

She should know better.  Not only has she witnessed my journey (including our three first-trimester losses) from a very close proximity, but she herself has experienced infertility.  It took her two years to conceive her daughter (via Clom.id), and they've been trying for over a year for #2.  They wrapped up three Clom.id cycles just prior to us starting our FET.  She told me she was done.  Which really doesn't matter -- she is entitled to keep trying.  I know I would.  I don't even think I'm angry that she's pregnant -- I love my niece to death and look forward to having another little one to spoil.  But, really?  Did she have to tell me THAT DAY?  Where is the compassion?  Where is the self-control?  She claims she couldn't keep a secret -- but apparently she can, as she didn't even tell me they were cycling.  And each day when she checked in on my POAS addiction, she never said a word.  So, really, could she not have held it in a few more days?  Or hell -- even past the first ultrasound (which isn't for another month, because that's how "normal" pregnant people do it).

I didn't need to hear that yesterday.  (You would have been proud, though.  Not only did I hold it together and make smiley happy chit chat for the rest of the day, but I didn't even blog about it until she had time to tell Momma MoJo.  Aren't I good?)

As if that wasn't enough, Mo bailed on me on Sunday.  He's handling this even worse than I am.  He left town to go gamble and drink a few hours away, promising to be back Tuesday morning for a dentist appoint.ment. Of course he stayed longer than expected, lied to me last night and said he was coming home, and then texted me this morning to confess he still hasn't left.  He's sorry, he's drunk, he's going to sleep it off.  Which is all well and good and great for him.

But where does it leave me?

I will tell you exactly where it leaves me.  It leaves me home alone, crying in bed, blogging about how shitty things are in my life right now.  It leaves me empty and aching, while everyone around me takes care of their needs first.  The people I turn to and lean on for support -- the ones who are supposed to GET IT -- have left me high and dry.

I'm so close to being done, with all of it, and yet I. CAN'T. QUIT.  Because the next one, that one might be the one that brings me what I've been looking for for so damn long.  I've been pushed to my breaking point so many times before, and somehow I just keep pushing that line a little further.  I excuse other people's bad behavior, because I understand what it's like to be in their shoes.  I know how much my sister wanted another baby, and I know how exciting it is when a hard-fought for pregnancy is achieved.  I know how much Mo is hurting, and I know he's coping the only way he knows how.

But, honest to god (or the universe or whatthefuckever), I'm sending out this notice: NO MORE. I have reached my limit.   I just can't take any more, okay?