Is it day six, day thirteen, or day twenty-four, of the two week wait? The chart can’t decide – if I take out this weird high temperature I had after sleeping very late, it says thirteen. If I take out this other weird high sleeping late temperature, it says 24, also, pee on a stick! If I take out both, it agrees day six. Or is it no day at all, because the Evil Reign of Queen Satsuma has reached new heights of bizarre and she has worked out how to mimic low estrogen/ high progesterone? Because, if you touch my nipples right now I will kill you with the sheer power of ultra-sonic shrieks of outraged agony.
And then I will have a headache.
And get horribly emotional over a charmingly soppy advert for formula. With cuddly Dads in. Cuddly Dads are the last straw, for me, even worse than smug pregnant women patting their bumps and cheerfully announcing it was an ‘oops’ baby. I am instantly plunged into the heart of Self-Pity Central. (I think the day (please God) that I see H with his child in his arms I will dissolve, forever and fatally, into a bawling salty puddle of happiness and that will be the end of that).
I think this is day six. I haven’t had any below-coverline temperature dips in six days. My cervix, who normally spends all her time on road-tours of the upper torso, sending back daily EWCM postcards, is sulking, drily, right down low, and has been for the past six days. Before the Six Days, she was up somewhere near the oesophagus, and presenting enough EW for me to have made a meringue. Despite the lurching temperatures.
H is refusing to get excited about this. I think the Hopeful Paramedic has given him post traumatic stress disorder.
I am fairly excited. Not in a ‘baby!’ way, as I think we rather mistimed the whole horizontal folk-dancing thing, and the poor egg will be presented with either the last few knackered, feebly struggling remnants of SWAT Team 1, or will have collapsed into doomed apathy herself by the time SWAT Team 2 have got all the way up there. I just think my body might have done, something, normal. Hurrah! But we’ll only know if it really really has on, say, next Wednesday, keeping in mind my somewhat short and pathetic luteal phase.
So guess what we’re going to see on Wednesday? Oh yes.
Heh heh heh