It's CD33. Pretty sure it's going to turn into CD1 here in a bit. The "stars" are aligning. Taking a deep breath, and waiting. This whole cycle has been a bit of a vacation. With a few stinging exceptions, we didn't think too much about the whole TTC "thing". I had a vague notion when I might have been ovulating, but I didn't tell J, and we had quite a good time not worrying about timing and position and what have you. I didn't expect to wind up pregnant this round. The odds are as low as they've ever been, really. His counts are still in the toilet, and there was no guarantee I'd ovulate on my own. I've only done it twice in the past five years after all.
So given all that, I'd have thought that maybe I'd get off easy this cycle. Maybe I wouldn't have to try, again, fruitlessly, to batter down the hope that inevitably rises as the days go by. Maybe I wouldn't wake up one morning to find the pain in my breasts forebodingly diminished. Maybe I wouldn't have to fight the urge to dig my heels into fate in front of me and my fingertips into the hope behind me.
Well, folks, there really is no cheating. No free passes. The hand stinks, and you fold it again. And you wait to be dealt a new one.
Oh. The image? Have you ever broken a stick with your foot? You know that slow cracking before the snap? These hours are like that.
I'm going to go sew something. And listen to that song. "Ain't no rhyme or reason, no complicated meanin', ain't no need to overthink it, let go laughin'... Life don't go quite like you planned it..."
Bootstraps. Yank.
2 comments:
There is NO cheating it in this game, no fooling yourself.
I like your twig snapping image, I always said it was like trying to burst a balloon with your bare hands.
Best of luck.
Thinking of you.
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