5th of July

I hate the 4th of July. There, I said it. It's not because I don't love my country and don't love liberty. It's because I have a terrible phobia of explosive, sudden noises, and have all my life, so this holiday has always been a torment to me. Back when I was in NY, I remember just about every year lying on my loft bed and crying, watching the fireworks from my window, because I was so incredibly bored and lonely. All of my nice friends would be gone for the summer and I'd have no choice but to wander the streets of the Village all night, getting into trouble with my gutter punk friends. But that's another story.

Anyway, I had been invited to a party on a friend's boat, the friend who wants to make me a dance floor. I accepted, but with great trepidation - how am I going to keep B happy on a cramped boat which is essentially a Toddler Death Trap? So once again, it just totally, totally sucked for me. All of my friends sat out on the deck and enjoyed the afternoon with great heaping plates of food and drinks while I sat alone inside, holding B's back while he climbed up the same treacherous stairs over and over, and I had to keep pulling him away anytime anyone needed to use them, with of course resultant kicking and screaming. Finally I was just utterly exhausted and fed up so I made an early exit after just a couple of hours - and drove home at 5 PM with nothing to do but feed B dinner and put him to bed, and then sit around bored while my neighborhood erupted in illegal fireworks. Good times.

As I had feared, the days of being able to take B to any kind of adult gathering are officially over. I can see now why people with kids just fold into themselves and never go anywhere or do anything - it's because unless you're home or at someone else's house who has kids, the world is full of hazards. I visited a friend with a big yard yesterday, in the hopes that I could let him run around while we ate lunch. Nope. Her yard was dotted with dog shit (which B would eat in a second) and a particularly scary cement stairway down to a basement door which he of course found fascinating. So once again I spent the entire time herding him away from these things while my friend sat and ate with her sleeping baby, and I eventually left starving and exhausted. It really makes me wonder why I even bother sometimes. 

Then today - ugh, today. My progesterone suppositories run out tonight. I thought I could just pop up to the compounding pharmacy and refill my prescription, no problem. Guess what? Closed. And closed tomorrow and Sunday, too. And they didn't even have the courtesy to say they were closed on their machine, so I drove a half hour for nothing with a screaming toddler. So I frantically tried to find another compounding pharmacy that was open - and of course they all told me I need my doctor to call it in. So I call the clinic - guess what? Closed until Monday, with no way to get a hold of anyone. So I am screwed, basically. You know what happened last time I didn't use progesterone for a couple of days? I miscarried, that's what.

So to say I'm upset is an understatement. What the fuck kind of pharmacy is closed for four days??? Why didn't I just run up there Wednesday? What am I going to do? Well, I guess the best thing to do is take my remaining suppository and divide it into threes so I at least don't go cold turkey off of it. And hey, I may not even need it at all, and how would this be any different than just plain old forgetting to use it, which I've done almost every night for two weeks? I also have zero evidence that that first chemical pregnancy had anything to do with stopping progesterone for three days. All I know is I stopped it for three days, got my bfp, went back on it for two days, then lost it. You do the math.

So I'm pretty beside myself. I just hope this is one of those worries that amounts to nothing - as opposed to The Thing that causes my tiny baby to die. All because of a fucking holiday. Damn it!!!