Day two of Medrohoojimaflipsterone, aka provera. Look at me, being all clever and delaying it a few days so I wouldn’t get my period while I spend next weekend with friends. Any bets on how badly that will backfire?
Clomid take 4 is officially over, thank Cripes and his little wingéd minions. Tether, end of, overtaken many weeks ago, I rather think.
Meanwhile, H found the ladder to the hayloft, so I am a) sleeping better and b) offering to do laundry and make dinner, so well done him. I confess I burst into furious tears and told him I really resented people thinking it was me who had hidden the damn ladder, and I was trying to be nice and patient, especially with FIL’s surgery, dammit, but look! Miserable FAIL! Coming right atcha! Snivel snivel snarl! H, having, clearly, the oddest ideas about fore-play in the United Kingdom, promptly took me to bed.
I shall not dream of complaining. Even if the unwonted and vigorous exercise did my hip in and made me spend 24 hours limping about clutching at it. SMALL PRICE TO PAY, say I. My hip, by the way, is what I was clutching at. OK? OK. Stop smirking now, it’s undignified.
We are going back to see the Counsellor tomorrow evening. Dear God in Heaven, do you suppose we’ll have to talk about sex?