Last week, while out on business with my boss from the cat sanctuary, someone ran up to us a bit frantically. She had found a litter of kittens in her yard, young kittens, no mom in sight. So of course we took them. My boss estimated them to be about 4 weeks old. They would eat a bit of canned food so they don’t require to be bottle fed for certain, but they’re not exactly gobbling down the food either.

Today at work I decided to go into the room to see them. Immediately after I stepped in and closed the door two kittens threw themselves at my feet, mewling quite loudly for a tiny little thing. The other two weren’t far behind. They crowded around my legs, voicing their desperation and upset. I knelt down. All four piled onto my lap. I leaned forward, hovering over them protectively, my arms encircling the writhing furry mass of kittens. Two of them rooted around my chest looking for a mama-kitten nipple. My shirt was rather disappointing, but they didn’t let that show.

I just want to take care of them. I want to bring them home and bottle feed them, curl up with them and make them feel safe. Such little creatures. They need someone to take care of them… and I need someone to take care of.

I wish I could have stayed longer. Maybe tomorrow I’ll sit in there for longer. I wish I could take them home to care for them, but that’s not an option.

I stood to leave and the boldest two kept lunging for my feet as I moved away, clinging to the warmth and mother-like comfort. It tugged at my heart to leave.

::

From the start my husband has encouraged me to stop obsessing over my cycle. I go through enough ups and downs normally, without adding the severe ups and downs of watching your cycle trail by, holding your breath, watching and hoping. So he kept encouraging me not to chart, not to stare at calendars, not to pay attention. “How do I do that?” I asked him. I found it impossible to not think about it, wonder about it.

The last two months have been different. I’ve seen the RE now, I have a plan. I have confirmation that my infertility is not just bad luck. I have a new job. I went on vacation. And I really haven’t thought about my cycle at all beyond wondering when we’ll start the IVF cycle. So when I realized I was going on vacation somewhere in the middle of my cycle I shrugged it off. When I saw some fertile CM I shrugged it off. I’ve been stressed and emotional lately, so there hasn’t been any kind of baby making going on. I didn’t care.

I mentioned it to Den offhand. “I think I ovulated,” with a shrug. No big deal, I wasn’t getting pregnant anyways. But he got quiet. A crease formed in his brow and he pursed his lips when he’s trying to get a grip on some emotion that he wished he wasn’t feeling. He was upset. He wanted a chance, he told me. The idea that this month we could have no chance at all was surprizingly hard for him.

I find it ironic in a sad way. He was the one encouraging me to stop holding on so tight – but he’s the one having trouble letting go.

::

I had my first appointment with a therapist today. A grief therapist. I went in with my guard up, ready to walk out if I was uncomfortable. I don’t want someone asking me how I feel about something – I know how I feel about it. I don’t want to feel judged, or misunderstood, or rushed. I don’t want someone telling me how to grieve, when most of the time I think I’m doing just fine.

But sometimes I’m really not doing fine. Sometimes I fall to pieces. This isn’t terribly surprizing… but when you consider my history of depression it does worry me. Especially since it’s my husband who tends to get the brunt of it. Oh there’s usually some justifiable trigger. I just over-react in a big way. I’m frustrated with it, and I think I just need some help navigating those holes when I fall in.

I notice that as time rolls onward I feel less sad, less despair, and more anger and jealousy. Both have always been there but the balance has shifted. The first few months were very selfish – and I don’t mean that in a bad way. I worried only about myself, about what I had lost, what I was missing. I frankly didn’t give a shit about anyone else unless it slapped me in the face. It took a lot to get me to really see things beyond my bubble. But now? That bubble is eroding. Now it’s about what other people have… and I do not. I feel very bitter. And I don’t like feeling this way.

I know it’s normal. But the pure grief was easier, in a way… a single mournful note. It was almost peaceful to feel that much sadness. Some days I couldn’t breathe, it was too heavy, but most of the time it was a weight that I could bear. I adjusted. But this, this anger? It’s here and gone in an instant. I have highs and lows and switch between them fleetingly. It leaves me breathless, confused, disoriented… and even more angry.

I honestly don’t know what therapy is going to help me figure out that I don’t already see for myself through my writing and self-reflection. But I’ve been doing this for 6 months and I need to try something different. I can’t do nothing.