I Should Be More Careful; or, Day 17

Day 17. No egg whites. CBEFM still reading low. Am I not going to ovulate on schedule this month (generally before day 22)? Or at all?

Part of me kind of wants me to not ovulate...because then I can go into the doctor next month and start testing and figure out what's going on get me knocked up through whatever means possible.

And part of me really, really wants to ovulate. Because if I don't...then maybe I have a problem and this isn't just normal, oh-it-takes-the-average-couple-at-least-six-months stuff.

I started to cry in the car this morning on my way to teach. Just thinking--I'm broken, I'm broken.

This fucking roller coaster.

Only In My Dreams; or, Looking for Signs

I had a dream last night that I was pregnant. It was one of those dreams that slowly emerge into consciousness, when you're awake enough to feel and remember everything vividly but asleep enough to believe that what your mind imagines is real.

I was pretty far along, six or seven months, and had this huge belly and felt so happy and complete. When I woke up, I still felt that way. I felt somehow hopeful that it would and could come true.

Life continues as usual. I'm tired and exhausted from teaching and taking classes, and I try to convince myself that it's better for my work and my strength to not be pregnant this semester. I try to assuage my sadness with reminders of how happy I am with my husband and the many things and can do now that a child would interrupt.

The spotting is back. I'm tracking my ovulation. Maybe I'll have some answers in a few weeks.

I'd rather keep dreaming.

The Other Side of Six; or, the Benefits of Action

Now that I've been officially trying for over 6 cycles, I feel like I've reached a milestone or crossed a bridge. I will either get pregnant within the next 6 months or I will be diagnosed with infertility problems and begin serious testing. I obviously would prefer the first outcome, but I'm glad to know the second is in reach, too.

I've always been a person who wants to know. If something's the matter, I want to be told. I'd rather work toward a solution to my problems, struggle after my dreams, and deal with sorrow and pain, than wait around in idle ignorance, letting life pass me by. The thought of "only" having six months left to conceive naturally doesn't scare me and it doesn't make me anxious. It encourages me, because however things shake out, I'll start to get some answers and make some progress. That's my coping mechanism: making a schedule, setting up the steps.

My Cle.arblue Ea.sy monitor came yesterday in the mail. My period stopped today. I'll start pee-sticking in a few days. And then--I ovulate or I don't. Depending on the outcome, this journey takes its path.

I feel good about peeing on this stupid piece of plastic, because it's a concrete action. My husband is feeling pressure, though, and we know he does not do well with that.

So those are my goals for the month: pee on sticks, see if/when I ovulate, keep my husband from knowing what the monitor says, and make things fun and relaxed for him.

Wish me luck, oh silent internet world!

Staring at Six; or, I'd Start to Worry If I Hadn't Already Started to Worry

I'm 29 days into my sixth cycle. I'm 2 to 6 days away from getting my period and starting another one. My boobs are bigger, my stomach bloated, and the cramps are slight but definitely there. It's coming.

I really thought I'd be pregnant by now. I tell myself I'll be pregnant within the next six. I worry I'm wrong.

At least I get to buy a fun, expensive toy to pee on in a week or so. Doctor's orders!

Another One Bites the Dust; or, Times Like These I Really Hate Myself

After a weekend with my (wonderfully, beautifully) pregnant best friend and her husband--in town from the West Coast--my husband and I stopped by his mother's birthday brunch to find our toddler niece wearing a shirt that read "Big Sister." Yup, my sister-in-law is pregnant with number two.

Please pardon me. I don't do this sort of thing in real life, but I've got to get it out somewhere, and to someone, and anonymous random people on the internet are probably better than strangers on the street, my husband, or my dog.

MOTHERFUCKING, COCKSUCKING, SON OF A BITCH!! FUCK!!!!!

Okay.

My husband says I kept it together just fine while we were there, looked happy and normal. I asked lots of questions about names and morning sickness and whatnot, and then I got in the car and cried all the way back home.

I hate being this way. I hate begrudging people their happiness. I hate feeling shut out of my own life by my own feelings. I hate being the invisible girl in the room, the one with the empty uterus and nothing to offer. (And it's my fault I feel that way, no one else's).

I toggle between wanting to let myself feel my feelings, and wanting to give myself a kick in the ass. So after crying, it's time for some ass-kicking:

1) Six months is not that long to try, and there are people who've been through so much worse for so much longer, so I have no right to complain.
2) Things are good in my life, I'm lazy and happy (when I'm not thinking about babies) and busy and I really don't mind things being the way they are.
3) Everyone I know (literally, EVERYONE) who was trying or potentially trying to get pregnant is now pregnant. All my other friends and relatives of child-bearing age are either unmarried or have told me they are not trying yet. So I figure, I've got at least the next six months to be free of pregnancy announcements, and then I'll be either pregnant myself or starting fertility testing, and there will be a plan.

Honestly, I can perk myself up reasonably well with these kinds of mental reminders when I'm on my own. But I'm sort of dreading the family get-togethers for the next seven months, which will be come increasingly and overwhelmingly focused on the baby. I want to be happy and have fun and not feel shitty and resentful and angry and sad.

How do I do it?

Annual Checkup; or I Love My Doctor

I went in for my biannual exam/annual pap on Tuesday. This was the first appointment with my gyno since the pre-conception visit back in February, when I confidently expected that I would be knocked up the next month.

While there I brought up my irregular cycles, the weird bleeding last month, last month's extremely short cycle and period that only last for two days. We've got a plan for moving forward, and I feel okay about it. No, I feel good about it.

We keep doing as we do this cycle, the sixth. Then, starting with the seventh (sometime in September) I get an ovulation predictor kit. If it registers that I ovulate, I let my doctor know and we keep trying until January (the 11 month mark) when we take the "next steps." If I don't register ovulation, then I let her know and come back in (in October) to start testing.

I don't know why I feel so positive about this. She just seemed so upbeat about my chances, that it made me feel good. "You're going to get pregnant," she said. "Aren't I always right?" she asked her nurse. And if I'm having trouble ovulating, she asserted, "We'll get you pregnant. There are ways."

I know some people dislike cheerfulness before the fact. I know some women would suggest I find a new doctor who'd more aggressively test or who would mitigate against hopefulness. But I can handle the doom and gloom on my own. I can provide the pessimism.

She gave me a big hug and a smile before she left, and I felt like she was already happy for me. And for the first time in a long time, I feel okay for me, too.

What the Hell?; or, Seriously, What the Hell?

I used to be a textbook. I used to be a clock. I used to be the hatching cycle of the northern cicada, or Halley's Comet, or some other eminently predictable natural occurance. I used to be regular.

What the hell happened?

Two years ago, my always-35-day cycle decided predictability was out and intrigue and surprise were in. "Why not 30 days?" it asked. "Okay, how about 34? Still too boring? Let's do 39. Oh, oh, and now 44. And back to 34. And now we'll do 31."

Fun. It's tons of fun never knowing when I'm going to ovulate or exactly how long my luteal phase will be afterward (yeah, that's in on the hijinks, too). But the most fun of all is my exciting mid-cycle bleeding!

That, too, started two years ago. I think the two have to go hand in hand. I now bleed for anywhere from two to five days consecutively and four to ten days total preceding my ovulation (there are often breaks of several spot-free days between consecutive days of spotting). Sometimes the blood is very light and one pantyliner will last all day. Sometimes the blood is heavier and I'll need to change the liner twice or so. One horrible month, it was so strong I bled right through my skirt. Thank you menstrual cycle for allowing me to relive the worst moments of junior high in my late twenties. Really special times.

Okay, so now comes my What the Hell incident of late. I'm on day 28 of my cycle. I'd guess I'll get my period in the next three to six days...BUT:

- I visited London two weeks ago with my husband. International travel across time zones has always screwed with my cycle.
- I've been spotting for the last eight days straight.

So I have no idea what's going on. This isn't ovulatory bleeding, as usual. That's usually pink and quite watery for me. Plus, I had that while I was in England. This is brown and kind of viscous.

I was supposed to ovulate while abroad. Since I don't temp any longer, I'm not sure if I did--but the mucus was right for it while I was there. But, since I traveled I wouldn't be surprised if I didn't. Plus, I NEVER spot after I ovulate, just before. But, like I said, this isn't normal spotting.

I see four possible causes:

1. I didn't ovulate yet and I'm going to have a seriously long cycle/delayed ovulation/anovulatory cycle.
2. I did ovulate, and now my body's just thinking up ways to mess with my head and screw with my system.
3. It doesn't matter whether I ovulated or not, because the spotting is being caused by some serious underlying fertility problem that my gyno hasn't caught yet.
4. I'm pregnant.

Yeah, that last one always slips in there uninvited. Party crasher.