“Do you want me to be your surrogate?”
That isn’t a question you want to hear from your mother, it's not an option you’d think to entertain, and it’s definitely not something you’d ever want to explain to your child.
“Yes, Timmy, you’re half your father and half your mother, but you came out of grandma.”
If that’s not a recipe for identity crisis, I don’t know what is.
I know my mother wasn’t being serious. She was only attempting to cheer me up after my disappointing doctor’s appointment where I was told I’m not ovulating and there’s nothing I can do about it aside from continue trying to get my thyroid under control and lose the weight the bum thyroid put on.
Not exactly brightening news when you’ve only lost ten pounds in the last year you’ve been trying and been on the meds everyone said would fix it.
But, you know, “Thyroid problems take time. You have to be patient…”
Meanwhile, I’m rocking forty extra pounds and want to have children in the very near future, but my uterus is on thyroid time.
It really doesn’t help that Facebook has turned into Babybook, and everyone I know is on baby number 2 with just a small sect of us in the corner with our empty wombs shaking our fists.
But, the key is positivity, right?
I gotta keep looking up.
So, I’m reinstating the no-holds-bar diet and exercise plan. That means it’s back to highly regimented days, food journaling, and strict guard duty of my cupboards (coincidentally, this is also happening for my dog who’s gotten a bit chunky).
Plus, since going sans gluten, they’ve cut my hormones in half as I went a bit high and had some reoccurring heart palpitations—never fun—and I don’t want any fallout from the changes.
Ugh, all kinds of fertility fun happening over here.