A Hormone Cocktail and a Muffin Top

Like most women, I'm pretty self-conscious about the way I look.  I don't shop at high-dollar stores or spend hours getting ready, but I am aware of how I appear to the outside world each and everyday.

It is no secret that I love to run, mostly for my sanity.  But I also run to eat.  I absolutely love food and have zero desire to be on a strict diet.  So, I usually try to balance my Milky Ways and red wine with exercise.

But... throw handfuls of pills containing ridiculous amounts of hormones into your world, and no amount of running or dieting can get rid of an extra layer of jiggle.

Before we headed down our road of fertility treatments, I had done enough research to know that most women add a little fluff from the shots and hormones and inability to exercise strenuously.  I wasn't worried about it one bit, and honestly, my doctor was in favor of me adding a few extra pounds to my frame.  I was am desperate to do whatever I can to help our chances of expanding our family.

The course of treatment did, in fact, affect my waistline.  However, when the outcome was a pregnancy, I could have cared less.  Three-fourths of the way through the first trimester I was eating when I was hungry and NOT running (per doctor's instructions).  So when we lost our baby, my body was definitely not one that I recognized.  There was more fluff and less tone than I'd seen in years.  

And it turns out it was all for naught.

As soon as was physically possible, I hit the ground running, literally, and worked out... a lot.  Mostly I was trying to release my emotions physically, but I was also desperate to find my body again.  The insides of my body are failing me, over and over again, and it is out of my control.  The one part of my body I DO have control over is the outside, and I was bound and determined to change it.

But -- now we're considering possibly suiting back up to get back in the game - us versus infertility.  And I sat across from a new specialist last week who urged me not to exercise too strenuously while she scribbled down a prescription for a cocktail of hormones and vitamins and supplements to start asap.  I mean seriously, I should take a picture of my old-lady pill dispenser and our cabinet full of medicine bottles.  I take more pills in a day than I used to consume in a month.  Pills that are chock-full of things that affect your body in all kinds of crazy ways.

I walked out of the doctor's office knowing that I wouldn't be bidding adieu to my muffin top anytime soon.

It goes without saying that I am willing to do whatever it takes to give us the best chance in this battle, if we do ultimately decide to get back in the game.  But y'all, it's so hard to surrender myself, surrender my body completely, knowing the odds are absolutely not in our favor.

And I write this not looking for someone to say, WHATEVER, YOU LOOK GREAT!  I CAN'T EVEN TELL!

Because you haven't seen me naked.  (You're welcome.)

I am writing this to be honest about my insecurities, my struggles.  We all know I like to put the raw truth out there, for one reason or another.  And right now my raw truth is that I need to pull out my maternity clothes... and it's obviously not because I'm pregnant.

It is what it is, I guess.

For now, it's time to (literally) put on my BIG girl panties and suit up.