Yep, folks, the 2ww is officially over. Just waiting on Day 1. Confession: I unofficially called this one over the weekend… quit doing the progesterone supps a few days ago so that the beginning of this next cycle wouldn’t be delayed. I vaguely remember what being pregnant feels like, and this ain’t it.
I think I did my grieving for this cycle on Saturday, because right now, I feel very matter-of-fact about the whole thing. My first box of test strips for the CBE ovulation monitor arrived yesterday, so I’m armed and ready to piss the month away*. Bobby requested that I post an “action plan” calendar on our bathroom mirror with the fertile phase clearly marked… he’s blazing into this next month with the focus and sheer determination of a battalion general.
* “Tubthumping” has been on a loop in my head this morning… “I get knocked down, but I get up again. You’re never gonna keep me down”… Appropriate infertility theme song, no?
During my meltdown Saturday, I was talking (crying) about “my” fertility problems and “my” inability to have a baby. Bobby stopped me mid-weep and told me that I’m no longer allowed to say “I” and “my” when it comes to our fertility and quest for a baby. That it’s “us” and “we,” and we’re in this together regardless of how personally responsible I feel about the miscarriages.
That’s my husband. He’s a freakin’ gem.