I think I have definitely ovulated now. My body is doing all the Game Over symptoms. I think Saturday morning was probably IT, and my temperature was so low on Sunday because I woke up with the blankets half off me, blue with cold. But who can say.
I have booked my seven-days-post-ovulation wanding and blood-tests, for Friday. Not that Friday is seven days post, exactly, but the ACU is not open at weekends, and in any case, they believe the OPK more than they believe me and my shaky knowledge of Queen Satsuma. Who is probably smirking like the Cheshire Cat right now. I could shake her by the non-existant shoulders until her non-existant teeth rattle.
I feel rather deflated, and I think I have already written this stupid cycle off as completely annoying and pointless. Despite the pretty almighty amount of beautifully timed sex we managed (and it was even fun! How did that happen?). I mean, said egg must have spent so long swilling about in a stew of hormones that it’s completely hard-boiled.
Anyway, I have no intention of getting all hopeful. It plays havoc with my powers of concentration and makes me introverted to the point of Howard Hughes. I have work to do, husbands to chat with. And I have plenty, nay, excessive quantities of studying to do. I have no excuse and no reason to sit about the house moping like a giant sloth in a down-pour. None at all.