I thought I’d take clever pictures and post wittily from here, the 32nd floor of the mid-town Hilton, but wittiness eludes.  I am having a pretty good time.  We’re here on my husband’s business, which means we don’t have to sweat the absolutely heart-stoppingly expensive price of everything.  Breakfast buffet $28.   One day on the hotel’s wireless internet $14.95 (but y’all are worth it).  One day’s pass to the hotel gym $14. 

We saw "Cyrano" with Kevin Kline and Jennifer Garner.  Can’t really get to the bottom of my girl crush on Jennifer Garner.  I fear that she may not be a great actress but just a really pretty, appealing one; I think my long TV relationships give some of these performers a long time to flex their perhaps slender acting ranges.  I fear that if I met Jennifer Garner I would act like one of those stalker fans, best represented in "Notting Hill" by the character who told the famous actress character that she thought they were almost, or could be, best friends.  That’s what really pretty, appealing actresses do to us, I guess. Not such a bad thing.  Anyway, our Jen did a good job in the show but Kevin Kline was the real diva and the play itself was well translated and beautifully staged. 

Last night we saw a little musical called "Gone Missing" and it was wonderful. 

Tonight we’re seeing a big long drunkfest called "The Seafarer," with old college friends, preceded by dinner at Sardi’s.  I am glad we’re watching the drinking instead of doing it.

We are having dinner before the show to flaunt our general un-New-York-ness.  New York is no place for us; we don’t understand why a salad has to cost $25 nor why it simply must be eaten after 10 p.m.  The general loud, crowded, competitive ugly frenzy of this city is too much.  I don’t care how fabulous everything is, or could be; it’s just not me.  I think Times Square is profoundly depressing.  And it’s only a little warmer than it was back home in Chicago, which is to say still f***ing freezing.  Next year this conference will probably be in someplace warm, and we might have to miss it because of having a brand new baby.

I hope.

I have expanded my infertility blognet, desperate to find anyone who isn’t pregnant and have found some new cycle buddies.  I will post them next time (I need to get out and do some shopping before my husband gets done with his morning session, he’s not a good shopper) but they know who they are.  Just know that if YOU get pregnant and I don’t, I will say nice things while I seethe with jealous rage, and if the situation is reversed, rage on. 

Yesterday was the first day of feeling like myself in a while.  The Lupron, the loss, the holidays; for whatever reason, my moods and I went lower this time than I can remember.  I enjoyed the holidays, day by day, but I also had to use every trick in the book to hold on to self-control when I really wanted to rip heads off.  I lost self-control several times, said snippy things to my husband, sobbed a lot, and after nearly three solid months without, I ate sugar.  Compared to any holiday season where not eating sugar wasn’t even on the table, my total sugar intake was insignificant.  But looking back from where I sit now, almost five days into post-holiday abstinence, I can see how eating sugar can really crank up my depression and self-hate.

I am having a terrible time accepting my weight gain.  I was fat before, a lot fatter than this, and then I was a very healthy weight for a time.  That makes it hard.  It also makes it doable.  I know how to dress at this weight and I have been here before.  But the body-failure of infertility, the de-feminizing impact of not being able to conceive and nurture and carry a pregnancy to term, gets mixed up with the de-feminizing, aging sensation of being fat.  I find myself worrying that I won’t be able to keep up with the physical demands of child-rearing, as if I’ll have this fat forever.  I am reminded of my age more often because I feel it.  I’m starting to lose track of what is my fault and what isn’t, in this body, and it’s very confusing. 

Meanwhile I am fit, and I eat extremely healthily, and none of this is "my fault," nor is it even that bad.  Self-hate is distorting and it’s a major struggle. 

A new sweater will help… (right?) so I’m off to find one.