It's My Pity Party and I'll Cry If I Want To

The oddest things can make me cry. I'm not even under the influence of hormone medications right now, which can make me weepy and/or rabid for no apparent reason. Tonight, after going to Maria's for a lovely dinner (including lovely margaritas which I am fully enjoying while not in treatment), we made two pit stops--Barnes & Noble and Target. At Barnes & Noble, I made it through the whole store without feeling sorry for myself. Even when I checked the infertility section to see if there were any new books I hadn't read yet that were interesting enough to buy (there weren't), and then when I pretended to look at the bargain book display but was really peripherally perusing the pregnancy and baby books to see if there was anything I'd want to buy sometime in the near future if things go well next time. No tears! No woe-is-me-here-I-am-looking-at-books-I-don't-need-while-I'm-tipsy-off-margaritas-because-I'm-decidedly-NOT-pregnant sadness. Next, off to Target to get cat food and hand soap among other things. I could look at adorable baby costumes and "Grandma's Little Boo" Halloween bibs no problem. (Especially since "Grandma's Little Boo" was a more than a little ridiculous.) I was even fine passing by all the impossibly tiny onesies, socks, and hats. I felt great, even boastful--look how well-adjusted I've become! Or...not.

Rocky nesting in a basket.

Do you know what sent me over the edge? What caused me to stand in a Target aisle, quietly sobbing and angrily hissing at my bewildered husband, "Would you just LET me be SAD already?!?" The cat aisle. The stupid, ridiculous cat toy aisle. There was a Kitty City bed thing that had two levels and a dangling moon. I thought about buying it for my cat, Rocky, who is effectively destroying the dining room chairs by nesting on them all day and night--this doodad would give him a soft place to curl up and a covered space to hide away in, like being under the table. Except the freakin' thing looked like a miniature pack-n-play. And the thought that I could buy a frigging pack-n-play type contraption for my cat but not for an actual baby depressed me to the point of tears. I had brief nightmarish flashes of a childless 45-year old me dressing up my cat in a bib reading "Grandma's Little Boo." The classic "it's just not fair" wail echoed in the back (and ricocheted off the front) of my mind. And I cried, tipsy and slightly empty-feeling, in the aisle full of catnip and laser pointers shaped like mice. Poor Bryce. He stood there helpless and bewildered--failing at attempts to cheer me up with silliness and inappropriate jokes because he can't stand to see me sad. But that's just inevitable during this stressful, emotionally draining time. Sometimes these things just sneak up on me and I just need a moment to be the crazy crying cat lady under the influence of Don Julio anejo tequila.