Control

I think it's natural for humans to want control.  And when you're in the middle of something that is so completely out of your control, like trying to conceive with PCOS, I think it's understandable to want to take control where you can get it.

One of my coping mechanisms since I was 14 has been to dye or cut my hair in some radically different way whenever I want to mark a new season in my life.  Right now, dealing with what I'm dealing with, I really want to dye my hair jet black.

Unfortunately for me, my dear, beloved husband of two and a half years doesn't like dyed hair.  My last two dramatic hair transformations were cuts, but my hair is short enough right now that a cut is just not going to (pardon the pun) cut it.  I'd probably just tell him that he'll get used to it if I didn't also recently accept a job as a children's pastor at a fairly conservative church.  (Yes, I am doing this in addition to law school.  I know.  If you're wondering, I'm also on the board of two clubs and doing a clinic, all while trying to get some life to grow in my barren tundra of a uterus and coping with the crushing depression that stems from my total failure in that area.  Basically, I've got tons of free time.)

I know it's a stupid thing to be upset over, but I am upset.  It just feels like I can't do anything with my body that I want to.  I'm stuck with my boring, dirt brown hair and my defective, joke ovaries when what I want is to be a raven-haired beauty who is so fertile you can't even look at her funny without knocking her up with quintuplets.  A black-haired, baby-making machine.

Instead, I'm still just me. ;/