I have to quit fondling myself
I've tried very hard to tell myself I feel pregnant, but the sad fact is, I don't.
The physical sensations I want to believe I've experienced can be summarily dismissed. Either
- I'm inventing them entirely; or
- they're the result of the powerful chemicals in which my ovaries steeped for ten long days.
The tenderness of my breasts? I blame the tsunami-like surges of progesterone, again the result of the drugs. That and the incessant poking I've been doing for the last several days, trying to judge the degree of soreness and fullness. At any rate, it's diminished.
Of course I'm not surprised that this cycle is a wash. It was pretty much doomed from day 9. The idea that we could overcome poor motility, the complete absence of cervical mucus, eggy or otherwise, and whatever egg quality problems I might or might not have was chimerical to begin with; the possibility that we could surmount these problems after ovulation had already been detected was fanciful in the extreme.
What can I say? My hope addict works overtime. She's a fool but I need her around.
My period's not due for another five days. I am trying to get accustomed to the idea of it before then. It will be a disappointment, but it won't be a shock.