We spent the next months trying diligently. There was the 4:30 alarm so I could take my temperature. There were ovulation strips to best estimate when I was about to ovulate. There was Clomid, and the horrible side effects that come with it, hot flashes, a week of insanely dark depression each month. Thankfully there were also copious amounts of sex, the good part of all of it.
But all of it boiled down to nothing more than frustration and tears.
Finally, enough was enough. I couldn’t handle it any more. I’d always hated the term, but Scott and I decided it was time to “take a break.” Mentally, I just couldn’t handle it any more. I didn’t want to spend each day being reminded just how hard this was.
So, we did just that. I enrolled in a fantastic yoga class. We made plans to train for a half marathon. I went and got a fabulous massage. I focused on anything but childbearing, and my mood lifted considerably. Yoga was the best, and I spent a lot of time focusing on breathing. I felt peaceful.
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