Item – FIL – you remember FIL had an accident at work and broke himself? – is still in hospital, and will need surgery all over again, as the shattered bones have shifted out of alignment. H and I are both strongly suspicious that this is almost certainly because FIL disregarded all medical advice and leapt out of bed like a cricket with ADHD. Not that FIL has confessed to doing any such thing, but seriously? We know the man. He wasn’t supposed to go home until tomorrow in the very best of circumstances and yet was happily telling people he’d be back at work on Thursday. With his limbs held together with multiple (multiple! FFS!) rods and any number of screws and widgets, like a moveable IKEA shelving unit. So, yes, he probably got up and attempted, I don’t know, car-tire changing or a little light sword-dancing. Gah.
Item – MIL was supposed to be visiting us at the end of September. I still don’t know if she will or not. So I would like to know if she’s still coming or not, so I can a) scrub the flat from floor to ceiling and end to end with bleach and sugar-soap, as MIL is tidy and house-proud and I’d be perfectly happy living in a swamp; and b) refuse or accept any of several, several invitations to cultural or artistic events of great importance, issued by people who are very dear to me, that will coincide with MIL’s visit. Wherefore c) H and I are supposed to be on holiday for two whole weeks starting next Monday, and will not be in a position to accept/refuse/scour anything on account of not being here. But MIL can hardly tell us now what she’ll be doing in four weeks’ time, as it all depends on FIL. Naturally. So I am in limbo. Common sense would tell me to scrub the flat anyway, as it has been a while since I last panicked about its social acceptability. Bother common sense.
Item – Incidentally, I am old. I went to an 18th birthday party at the weekend. I remember going to see the fireworks with the wee laddie when he was three. He loved the flashes and lights but was scared of the bangs, so I, being a brand-new responsible and caring adult myself, took him on my lap and put my hands firmly over his ears, and he was (to the surprise of his parents) perfectly happy. He has no business being several inches taller than me, drinking beer and waving his provisional driving licence about. He has grown up into an extremely nice, talented and sweet-tempered young man, bless him, but 18? Him? Already? And no longer running around in his bright-yellow romper-suit?
Item – I am being driven madder than Mad Jack McMad at work. They (you know, They. Closely related to Them. Every company has some) are renovating, and therefore entertaining themselves by drilling holes into the steel joists right underneath us. The noise is so unbelievably loud and all-conquering that I can feel my teeth chattering with the vibration. I think if I screamed out loud every time the drill started up no one would hear or notice. It’s that bad.
Item – Given that I am old and mad and disgruntled and deaf, it must be PMS time. Admittedly, I save the worst of my hormonally-driven raging whackjobbery for ovulation, because I like being odd, but still. Period due on Thursday. Possibly Wednesday (ie tomorrow). Because I ovulated on a Friday, possibly Thursday nearly two weeks ago (Satsuma was a little unclear about it, which is odd for her, and deeply disconcerting for me. We’re flying on basal body temperature and CM alone, here), and because I feel crampy, and because I have a 12 or 13 day luteal phase, underachiever that I am. If it does turn out to be an 11-day luteal phase I shall be really quite annoyed. How’s anyone supposed to settle down and make themselves at home in 11 days?
Item – In order to be absolutely utterly sure that I would not miss another pregnancy and that I would Save It With Aspirin! Yes! I have been peeing on sticks since 9 dpo. Negative, with evaporation line to gnash teeth over, which disappeared after an hour anyway. Negative. Negative. Damn. Fuck and alas.
Item – BBT falling, check. Cramps, check. Overwhelming desire to eat chocolate ice-cream, check. Did I mention three negative pregnancy tests in a row? Really really sensitive 10 mIU/mL ones? At least we can get on with booking car-hire and some hotels for our holiday. Right? Because we won’t need to be anywhere near any RPL clinics this September? Right? Right?
Item – And for added mind-fuckery goodness, I still have metal-mouth, occasional transient nausea and achey breasts. Transient nausea and smell sensitivity I seem to get every luteal phase, so we shall discard them. The metal-mouth is… worrying. As are the breasts being still in the game. Normally, by day 11, they have totally given up and gone home.
Item – H hates it when my body acts like this. He’s gone off to sit in the next room, rocking back and forth a tad and looking at nice logical comprehensible cameras online.