It will shortly be Easter. Which is deeply unfair as I’m still really quite busy and oy! Bring that week back! I haven’t finished with it! And in fact, my mental calendar is still processing the tail-end of January.
Because it is Easter, The Family want to see us. There are birthdays and engagement parties and such, and they haven’t seen us for ages and simply ages, darling. We are under a lot of pressure to go visiting.
I don’t know if it’s clomid-induced mood-swings, or stress because I have essays coming out the wazoo here, or actual genuine having-a-point, but I do not want to go visiting.
Family! NOT WANT.
I don’t think I can quite forgive my parents for assuming I was a hypochondriac and a whiner and ignoring my increasingly painful, heavy and generally weird periods right up until I lost an entire damn ovary. I don’t think I can forgive them for continuing to assume I was a hypochondriac and a whiner for quite a few years after that, even. I don’t think my mother still assumes this about me, I think she takes my cussed innards quite seriously now, but I do not want to be around her, or my sister, or any of my aunts, especially not at a family reunion ‘so, when are you having kids?’ extravaganza. I feel too ‘fragile’ (polite for bloody crazed), and far too easy to wound. At the time I am being nagged to attend these assorted festivities, I will be
A – Just about to ovulate, and seeing how badly I react to my very own home-grown hormones when I ovulate, let alone the whacking great chemical kick-started version, I will no doubt be a freaking mess, or
B – Absolutely not about to ovulate, and therefore a freaking mess. Which leads us to,
C – By the second required attendance I will be within a day or two of Pee On A Stick Day. And therefore a freaking mess, or,
D – Not, because the clomid did not work and I did not ovulate, and yet again a freaking mess, with added provera and a double dose of little white pills of anxst just about coming across the horizon.
E – Oh, and course-work deadlines. Did I mention essays already?
F – Also, personal camera-work to fit in around the Easter break, because my timing, it sucketh.
And I snarled at H again, for trying to talk to me over the phone while I was on a train, already, and I do not talk on trains unless the house has burnt down.
And I have been this close to crying all day.
Also, my right lower abdominal quandrant, the throne of Queen Satsuma, a little tender today. Should I be worried? Should I be pleased? Should I just shut the hell up until the scan on Friday? Speaking of which, H is refusing to have sex with me before the scan in case I am growing eighty-seven follicles at once and he will not countenance the whole ‘My name is Legion, for we are many,’ offspring thing. So I am now convinced I’ll ovulate extraordinarily early and we’ll miss our chance and I’ll have to beat him senseless with the 46 Pee-Sticks of Doom. And anyway, I fancy my husband. He is so very irritating when he goes all continent on me.
I am sick of myself. Please tell me this is still the clomid.