Today marks the end of my third cycle of Clomid 50mg. I am still not pregnant. I have an appointment on Tuesday to start the next step. We will be going up on my dose of Clomid. This will require two trans-vaginal ultrasounds a month to insure that my ovaries aren't being over-stimulated. And yes, that is about as much fun as it sounds like.
I came to the conclusion at the end of this cycle that I am starting to run a very real risk of becoming that crazy infertile lady. You all know the one I'm talking about. Everyone knows at least one bitter, snarky, completely insane infertile woman. I have compiled a list of signs for my husband that will indicate that I need to be committed.
1) I buy one of those really creepy, super-realistic reborn dolls and start pretending that it is real.
2) I start dressing my dogs in clothes and feeding them from bottles in a highchair at the table. The funny part about this one is that my super co-dependent dog Piper would probably LOVE this.
3) I tell complete strangers that I am pregnant just so that I can hear, "Oh my gosh! Congratulations!"
4) I start getting cats. LOTS of cats.
5) I begin resorting to strange "alternative" therapies. Examples: hiring a Native American shaman or any other sort of witch doctor, undergoing magnet/crystal therapies, or go to have my energy realigned.
So, if I start displaying any of these or other equally insane symptoms my dear husband has agreed to have me locked away in a padded room. Now that is true love.
***Update: Alas, I have started doing three of these things. I'm doing a whole body cleanse, I bought my dog a shirt from the children's department of Walmart (but only because I couldn't find her a dog sweater in her size), and I brought home a doll from my childhood just to hold sometimes. Yep, I've lost it.***