I should have never bothered with the OPKs. They are screwing with me.
This morning’s offering, suddenly, very nearly positive. This evening’s (because paranoia about missing ‘The Surge’ is turning me into a ‘spend your way out of the recession by internet cheapie pee-stick’ missionary), nah. Does that mean this morning’s was a positive with a negative attitude? Or a negative with a stupidly chirpy attitude?
Keeping in mind that Satsuma, though grumbling a little, is nowhere near as hugely sore and cantankerous as she usually is when she hatches. Damn her.
Meanwhile, it’s day 18 of the cycle and There Is Friction (oh, in so many ways) in the marital bed. For a start, every single time we make sweet, sweet love (and all the times when we just have sex), H invariably cricks his neck and spends the supposed-to-be cuddly aftermath yelping, clutching at the back of his head and getting me to administer emergency Vulcan Death Grip massages. It’s not exactly erotic for either of us. I don’t help by adopting a ‘get on with it and pull my nightie down when you’re done’ attitude – again, where’s the almost feral randiness that normally turns me completely irrational the week before ovulation?
And I am in a very painful and introspective mood. It’s less than a fortnight to Pikaia’s due date. I’ve booked the exact day off work, and so has H, and we haven’t a clue what we’ll do on it, but at least we’ll be doing whatever it is in the dignified privacy. Because here we are again, back where we were last year, with nothing to show for a whole lot of trouble but a small envelope containing one elderly positive pregnancy pee-stick, a heartfelt little poem written by my mother, and a joint list of our favourite names for baby boys and girls.
I have a feeling this is not helping with any of the above.