In December, my doctor told me that he thought my fertility was being affected by weight gain.
I have had an internal fight with myself for the past four months, mostly in denial, but also a great deal of avoidance. I refuse to get the blood tests he wants done because I'm terrified of the results.
But recently I've come to the conclusion that I am even more terrified of facing myself if I ruin my own chances at having more children.
I easily got pregnant twice and expected my luck would hold. For the past year and a half, however, as I've gained more weight, my cycle has completely gone crazy. And it hasn't been as easy as I thought.
I don't like talking about it. I don't like working on it. I don't want to do it. But I know that I need to do it. And I know that I need to want to do it. I also know that I desperately need all the help I can get.
I'm ridiculously addicted to fried food. I crave it. Chick Fil A is my best friend. And I have truly deluded myself into thinking that because of my job (working out of my car) and my schedule (working until six three days a week, and kids that won't eat ANYthing that comes out of a crock pot) made it okay.
It started last month where I would challenge myself to a week of no fried food and then fail miserably. Then on Monday night, I had a breakdown to my husband. He is supportive and loving but I think he's a little scared to have me report to him. He doesn't want to deal with my wrath if he has to remind me to exercise or what to choose to eat. And I didn't think I needed to report to him. But I do. Oh, I really do.
So, this week we are BOTH eating no fried food. Yesterday I exercised. Tonight we ARE both going to exercise and tomorrow I WILL exercise again. I WILL exercise five times this week.
Because I need to. Because I need to want to. And because if we don't have that third baby I crave so desperately, it is NO longer going to be my fault.