Secret Squirrelling is nearly over. Hopefully only one more day to go, and then I can escape back to my dear old normal job, where no doubt my inbox will have reached the Tolman–Oppenheimer–Volkoff limit. And that’s about all I can say about that. (What? I made an affirmation I’d stay schtum. Yes, even semi-anonymously on the internets).
And the other bloody annoying thing about Secret Squirrel Lair is that the coffee is grotesque, and the food is horrible, and I have put on three pounds because I am eating rubbish and not even enjoying it and have been for two weeks. I am praying some of it is bloat, and will just… go away… OK, yes, I am being delusional. Pass the lettuce.
I’ve also been somewhat incommunicado this week because I have been headachey every single blasted evening, and this is not conducive to either blogging or commenting, for which I apologise. Well, I apologise for the not commenting. Apologising for not blogging for three days sounds unutterably vain-glorious.
I did, actually, ovulate, earlier this week (hence wistful hopes of bloat), and my period is now due Monday 21st or Tuesday 22nd. I’m so very, very bored of the hope-fail-hope-fail thing, and so very bored of two week waits. Apart from the way they always feel like being loaded into the back of the lorry for transport back to the front line at Ypres [Sound of a thousand teeny-tiny violins].
Our wedding anniversary is the 19th. I would like to get pie-eyed drunk and have passionately uninhibited sex with H on the living-room carpet because we can’t wait to make it to the bedroom. Given the whole two-week-wait thing, I will be feeling uneasy about drinking, so I probably won’t even though I probably should. Fingers crossed the sex works out in the face of tedious sobriety, eh?
Oh, I know what’s vaguely interesting. H and I were discussing the whole chemical pregnancy period-not-even-late AUGH thing, and how horribly stressful it is when that happens. Is there a way, we wondered, in which we can manage this without making us both implode with anxst? Do we even want to know, in future, if I’m pregnant if it’s only for 24 hours? What about the aspirin therapy?
I know quite a few fellow RPL veterans have been put on low-dose aspirin every single day for ever. But The Professor was quite adamant that I should only start taking aspirin when I get a positive pregnancy test. Huh.
I suggested to H that I start taking aspirin anyway at about 10dpo, but, and this is crucial, don’t test until my period is late. Or, at least, late for me. H was very keen on this idea, and we were all gung-ho for quite some minutes.
But, I’m still not sure if I want to know or not know when I have a chemical. I hate the idea of how anxious and frustrated and angry and downright sad chemical pregnancies make me. I want to get on with my life without being pole-axed with anxst every third cycle. But I just hate the idea of an embryo having been in there, and me not knowing – it makes me feel like I’m abandoning them. Even though with the plan, there will be aspirin, so my clotty blood doesn’t choke the poor bugger. Even though a chemical pregnancy is because the embryo really is made of genetic mince and can’t work out how to make its own trophoblast, let alone a fetal pole and heaven forfend, limb-buds. Even though some embryos never even implant at all and there’s not even the tell-tale faint tinge of HCG in the urine for a few hours to let its mother know it was ever in there.
How about you, Gentle Readers? Would you want to know? Even if it was only a chemical pregnancy? Or would you really rather not?