BIrthday Blues

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to....except there ain't no party!

Before I start really singing the blues I want to thank everyone who visited and commented on my catastrophically  woeful work post. Your support was really wonderful to have. It turns out I was seriously underestimating my boss and seriously over-reacting and getting myself into a hormone -filled frenzied tizzy! I feel bad for moaning and groaning about my new boss who has turned out to be supportive and smart and seems to be appreciating both my skills and charm. The PTSD was and is real and all sorts of things trigger it - but not surprisingly having a new boss - the sixth in  a litany of bosses really sent me over the edge. I am thankfully retreating from the edge with dirty fingernails but not a lot of other scars.

The past few years my birthday has SUCKED! I am not a big birthday girl (well, I confess I say that, but it's really not true!) I  would love to be feted and adored and treated like at least the princess if not the queen. I am not a prima donna or a diva by any means ( although I am a ham and a show-off), but being a twin and always having to share my birthday with my sister has meant that I never really got to be "THE BIRTHDAY GIRL!!!!" I'm not sure if this is just an English thing, but when there were parties when we were kids, it was ALL about the birthday girl. She got to do everything first, have the biggest piece of cake,  choose her team in the party games, etc etc - if there was any doubt about who got to do something first or best or biggest at the party there was always the chorus of "let the BIRTHDAY GIRL do it!!!!" Well my sister and I  always got to be really good at sharing this honor between us, and we  acted particularly maturely about it, but I think it was all an act, and one of kindness and decorum, because we knew that throwing a tantrum and demanding to be the center of attention meant that the other twin would look bad and be "left out." That was probably one of the most cardinal sins of twin-ship. To be "left out". Or to be better than the other one at something. Because the other one might feel bad if they weren't as good, so we had to tread carefully around each others' feelings and competition or having a special talent that stood out. We were both good at quite a few things and we were usually neck and neck in terms of talent. I think we longed to be supremely better at one thing or another just to be able to break the mold of always being "equal". Being "equal" became an end in itself and not necessarily a happy end.

But I was telling you all about how my birthday has sucked in  recent years. In 2008 I was suffering greatly under aforementioned abusive and psychotic boss who was about to be fired but was still beating me with a big iron stick and threatening to fire me. It was our 40th birthday and my sister and I had planned to have a joint party, which turned out to be fun, however the shadow of the horrible boss situation hung over me. The day of the party we had a huge flood caused by a burst pipe in the back storage area and our hardwood floors were covered in about two inches of water. We still managed to go to my sister's for the party but we had to come home and the next day  pack up our stuff and move out for two weeks while our house was in critical care - hushed and intense save for the hum of  huge drying machines and fans. I had asked people not to buy me presents because we were saving up for "the baby project" which had been postponed from fall 2007 because of nasty boss and super stress impeding my charting and relaxing and focusing on my body and reproduction. We got some donations from very kind friends and relatives and project baby was launched a few months' later - to a resounding thud.

Last year, my 41st birthday was characterized by more doom and gloom pursuant to a failed IVF cycle four days previously where the tactless and gruff Mr. Perfect Statistics RE told me as I scootched myself up from a supine position that my only hopes of ever getting pregnant were donor eggs. I don't even remember what we did or how we "celebrate"'. I do know that there were no pre-natal vitamins consumed and that large amounts of wine disappeared down my sadly hiccuping gullet.

And this year, I have lots to look forward to.  Tonight I start my estrogen and ramp down the Lupron on day one of the hormone replacement therapy of my first FET cycle. In approximately three weeks I'll be back in the stirrups having two  thawed embryos inserted into my uterus while the ultrasound tech makes corny jokes about the "homecoming" and the honey moon suite over my full bladder. All signs point to a pregnancy at the end of it. Except for my track record and my never having been even a tad pregnant.

S asked me what I wanted for my birthday and what I wanted to do and I got awfully crabby and could not really think or didn't want to think about it. I am working on my birthday ( which I usually avoid because it means that I inevitably end up in the ER doing a petition  for involuntary admission on a  client, which often stretches into the night) so that my boss can see how committed I am to "showing up" at work. I am even getting a pap smear on my lunch break on my birthday.  I had a mammogram this morning. Why am I punishing myself? And why am I so full of self hatred and disgust at myself? And lethargy all at the same time?

The only thing that I am remotely interested in getting for my birthday ( apart from a few million dollars so I can retire) is a Wii. I have convinced myself that this is a bad idea because a. it costs over $200 and b. it will just fuel my electronic addiction which mostly manifests itself as blog mania - not recently you understand,  as my comments have been lacking, though my reading is up to date - and which sometimes makes me think that I really need to be getting a real life and not just having a rich and fun and compassionate internet one.

So we are going to Target to get some photos copied so I can make my twin sister a collage of photos of our dear sweet dad, who died almost two years ago and broke our hearts. (I'm hoping for a boy because we are going to name him after my dad, and a girl because I always wanted a girl).  I will probably have a decaf latte and S will have popcorn and it'll be a little date. God, why can't I get a life and get happy, people?