Item – Have now had three appalling melt-downs, shouting, howling, hysterical sobbing melt-downs, in three days. Oh joy.
Item – I hate myself like this. Hate hate hate. Grrr. And I was a cow to H last night, when the row was over and I had cried my eyes completely out and we had to round them up and rinse the carpet fluff off them (sorry. Am in strange mood). He was trying to do that opening up, caring sharing thing I go on about so much and I cut him dead. Mostly because I felt utterly sick of absolutely everything ever, starting with Genocide and Supernovas and working my way right down to microns, split-ends and Paris Hilton’s love-life, and not because I was not interested in what H was saying. It was not a Good Moment.
Item – I am assuming it’s some kind of bereavement reaction to Pikaia’s approaching due date (16th of January) and, like Jane said in the comments on the post before last, I’ll feel rather more human when it’s over. I think I really do feel that up until the 16th, Pikaia is still somehow my responsibility. I am assuming this too is normal. I am chosing to assume, in fact, that I am behaving completely normally for an infertile woman with added miscarriage drama, and everyone else can say thank you for the reality check and make me tea.
Item – No sign yet of ovulation. It is day 21. I can manage ovulating weeks late all by myself, thank you, and don’t see why I needed to take psychotic-break-inducing medication to replicate the endless tension, boredom, seriously anxsty sex, and peculiar out-breaks of blind rage at own ovary. I can make my own at home, using nothing but one husband, slightly shop-soiled, and whatever hormones my pituary can be bothered to come up with for free. Gah.
Item – OPKs have adopted new and interesting strategy of becoming fractionally, and by fractionally I mean about one millionth of an iota, darker on each succeeding day without ever showing anything close to a decided positive. This is a PCOS thing, I suppose. Just like the fact I need to wax my upper lip again but can’t because there is a spot the size of a Cairngorm on it already.
Item – Somewhere under all this, there is a perfectly decent life waiting to be lived. Oh dear.