Expectations

First off, let's get the expectations for tomorrow out of the way. Tomorrow is cycle day 13. I have a morning appointment for my mid-cycle. My hopes are certainly not up. Day 13 is super early for me to have accomplished much on the follicle front. I'm normally a day 20 girl, but my doctor believes that Femara might be the magic drug, and we don't want to miss it. So off I go. I don't really have a lot of hope for this cycle overall at this point either. I know that side effects of the meds aren't really a good indicator of success, but on clomid, I felt like I had a sack of potatoes in my abdomen. Thus far on femara, I haven't had any abdominal cramping or pain after day three on the meds. I just don't have a good feeling about our chances this cycle. No real reason, just general pessimism.

Now, onto the real point of this post. Dealing with expectations. Most importantly dealing with it when your expectations don't come to fruition. I think this is the root of my sadness, depression, moodiness, whatever you want to call it. I feel like my dreams are shattering around me. It's not a very fun place to be.

So here is what I was expecting out of this life: I thought I'd marry young, not like seventeen or anything, just younger than my mom probably would have wanted. I was totally cool with getting married in college if I found the right person and felt that we were ready. From there, I always figured I'd give the marriage a year or so before we started in with the kids, but remember I thought I'd be 22 getting married (or earlier). From there, I would schedule out my perfect little (big) family in the perfect two year increments. First baby at 23-24, second 25-26, third 27-28, fourth 29-30, fifth 31-32, and lastly we'd probably adopt a little later, maybe 35ish.

I'm a big planner. I remember being in AP English my junior year (total snooze) and doodling in the margin all about my future. I drew out not only my future monogram but my future children's as well: I knew all of their names. I was anal enough (or crazy enough) to schedule this whole thing out so that my babies wouldn't have to share birthday months or get too close to holidays. I think somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that this level of detail wasn't realistic. For one, those monograms didn't really workout (high school love). But, I've never been able to stop myself from the meticulous planning; I have always been a dreamer. And for most of my life, I thought this was an excellent personality trait.

So now, here we are staring at our 27th birthday and we've accomplished...marriage. I was supposed to be on baby #3 at this point! I obviously realized when I met Sam, I mean Mr. Drags His Feet (love him) that my schedule would probably be shifted. And Sam was never really on board with 5+ kids, so I was warming up to the idea of 4 in case he really couldn't wrap his head around it. But this? This is blowing my dreams up.

I am currently having to come to terms with the fact that we will probably not have a big family. I know it's possible, but it's not probable. If it takes us two years to get pregnant each time, we'd be looking at a baby at 27, 30, 33, and so on. I'm not super comfortable with having a baby too late in life as the risks of miscarriage, birth defects, etc are much higher. Plus, I honestly don't feel like this level of dedication can be maintained for the next ten years either. It's just to wearing on your body, your mind, your marriage. I'd honestly be pretty pleased at this point if I could snag two babies out of this deal (wait, let me rephrase, Sam and I always talk in births not babies, so I'd be stoked to deliver on two separate occasions).

I think the DRASTIC changes are why I'm having such a hard time dealing with all of this. I'm literally watching my life plan crumble. I think the difference in expectations is also part of why Sam is handling this so much better. I say part because Sam is awesome at handling change, disappointment, etc. Whatever it is, Sam is able to roll with it. He doesn't get upset, mad, sad, frustrated... nothing. He just moves on. But I also think the expectations he had play a role in how he has been able to deal. Basically, Sam's plan for his life looks a lot more like what we've got then mine. He NEVER thought he'd get married in college. And he really didn't have starting a family as a top priority in his 20's. I think 27ish was probably the earliest he really saw himself starting a family. So to Sam, other than the extra money, we are sitting pretty.

While I am sometimes frustrated that I'm the only one freaking out, the only one stressed, the only one upset, I'm actually REALLY thankful for Sam's ability to roll with the punches. If he was broken hearted over all of this, it would make me feel like even more of a failure.

So what's the solution to all of this? Don't have expectations? Learn to deal with disappointment? I don't really have a clue. I guess the only real solution is trusting that the Lord's plan is truly better than mine. So that's where I am, trying to trust. Trying to have faith. Trying to believe that He really is good, and His love really is great.