It's been a while since my day-to-day revolved primarily around work, rather than today's RE appointment, scheduling tomorrow's, being out of office for some half-day procedure, etc. Now I have to fill my time exclusively with work. Takes the piss right out of me. I miss the cycle calender in some sick, co-dependent way.
It's open enrollment for benefits at work, and I decided to purchase an additional week of paid time off for next year. That's on top of 23 days and the week I can roll over from this year. For those keeping track at home: 6 weeks and 3 days PTO. Holla. One or two years ago, and up to as recently as the last failed IVF cycle, I daydreamed about how much time I would take for maternity leave: would I go back to work, take an extended leave of absence, or quit altogether and be a SAHM for a while? I thought about saving vacation days to tack on to the end of maternity leave. I felt I was being hopeful and practical. Now...I just want to hoard more vacation time. If we have any money next summer, I want to go to Italy (where my husband's people originate) and Ireland (my people's motherland -- irony intended). Or, if we are broke-ass from continued efforts to make a beh-beh (as I suspect we may well be), I will lay around the house and watch daytime talk shows. We'll see. I may need some weeks for trips to Colorado or China for all I know.
A friend called me yesterday to wax poetic about maternity leave and paid time off. She is due with her second beh-beh in May 2010. She had her first around the time I might have had mine, if my husband and I were capable. So I love my friend dearly, but I loathe hearing about her pregnancy. She means well and is actually very cautious about what she says to me regarding beh-beh news, but she relaxed her filter and launched into a rhetorical tangent yesterday about 6 weeks this, 8 weeks that, what about 12 weeks, blah, bah, blah. I actually physically tuned her out while she was talking. I just kept muttering "uh-huh" until there was silence and then changed the subject. I feel like a grade A jerk for being unable to carry on an adult conversation about my friend's pregnancy, but it is was it is. I am an infertile asshole. Love me or leave me.
One week until the highly-anticipated, second opinion RE appointment. Then my co-dependency can resume. Whew.