BFB was over for dinner last night. We were having a perfectly reasonable interaction, when Jane became fussy. BFB started singing to her. Turns out that's one of the things I just can't handle, though I wouldn't have been able to predict it.
It breaks my heart into a billion pieces. I guess 'cause there's something extra intimate about it, somehow. Maybe it's just me. Anyway, I had to scurry off to the kitchen to weeeeeeeeep. So, uh, this special public service announcement goes out to the millions of my readers who are normal fertile women: don't sing to your baby in front of the infertiles. It's mean. In fact, if you wouldn't mind just moving into a dark cave until I and everyone I care about has managed to achieve a solid pregnancy (like, 30 weeks), that would be awesome. Thanks.
Meanwhile, if you've had a failed IVF cycle, would you mind stopping by hope4joy's place to offer some support? (I know I don't need to ask you to visit Adele, because you would anyway.) A big WHY THE FUCK DOES LIFE HAVE TO BE SO HARD? to those two wonderful girls.
But hey, remember the woman who gave me the VIKING RUNE CANDLE? She's now 20 weeks into her 7th pregnancy, after six miscarriages in a row. I know that might make some of you feel worse, not better, and I'm sorry for that, but to me it's a sign of hope.
And on that glorious note, have a splendid weekend! Wear some PANTS!