But for real. In the weeks since the miscarriage I have gotten like 25 grey hairs. That may not seem so big, and it really isn’t. I mean, you expect to have a few greys at 30, and I’m knocking on 30’s door. On the other hand, my mom is 50 and has less grey than I do.
I don’t know if it’s a product of the stress, or the stress the pregnancy put on my body. Something has changed, though, and not for the better. Of course, it wouldn’t be happening to me if it was for the better.
Anyway, the greys are really bothering me. Like a lot. They just sparkle in the sun and mock me. Don’t get me wrong, I like silver hair. I once contemplated dying my hair silver. I have a huge crush on Anderson Cooper. Silver hair is sexy. Silver hair on me is a reminder that I’m getting old. It’s a reminder that my youth is behind me. It’s a reminder that I haven’t accomplished very much in my life.
I guess it would be different if I felt like I earned my tinsel streaked tresses, but I don’t. I don’t know why I don’t. Afterall, I’ve worked as hard to be a failure at becoming a mother as most women do at actually being a mother. At least, I assume that’s true, considering I have nothing to compare against. I’ve put in countless hours of research, had many surgical procedures, seen dozens of doctors and poured my entire heart into one disappointment after another. Shouldn’t that rate with PTA meetings and night feedings? Of course not. Work isn’t valuable unless it yields results and so far mine hasn’t.
I don’t know how much longer I can do this.
Seriously, what the fuck did I do to deserve this?
Sure, I have good things in my life. I have a great career (that I never wanted). I have new cars (that I really don’t need). I have two entire closets full of clothes (that I don’t wear/don’t fit). I can sleep in on weeknds, I can go on vacations, I can do what I want when I want with no thought to how it might affect anyone else (except G, but he really isn’t that affected by my sleeping in). I would trade every luxury, every extravagance, every penny (well, infertility is expensive, there really aren’t THAT many pennies left), every single comfort of DINK-hood for a baby.
Why does this have to be so hard?