A test at 10DPO told me I wasn’t pregnant. I wasn’t surprised, so I threw the test into the trash and went about my day. Y’all, I’m so proud: I didn’t go back later and dig through to see if a line had somehow has escaped my attention earlier.
I was, however, pleasantly surprised that I didn’t spot at 10DPO. Second month in a row and third time ever without the help of progesterone. I’m starting to suspect that the Pregnitude (“Pregnitude – is that like Natitude?” once asked the husband) is having a role in this. Instead of making me hopeful this time around, I’m cheered by the thought that my spotting might be pushed to at least 11DPO (I know it’s only a day, but a day’s a huge deal in the two-week wait).
If we’re sign-spotting, though, I’ve been having cramps since 9DPO. They’re tidal – they come and they go – but I think they’re beaming the message that my period will be here Monday or Tuesday.
I’m not going to say it’s okay because it’s not, it sucks. I do know I’ll have a day or two of sadness and then get on with life. I accept that. One of my biggest problems was not accepting the fact that I’ll be upset, forcing myself to do a happy-go-lucky routine of, “Oh, next month!” But hell, people: you know I’m going to be pissed. I’m trying to own it.
So if/when this cycle ends, I’ll report back to my doc, and we’ll have one more month before he brings me in and gives me another plan of attack. I’m still reluctant to try IUIs because they just strike me as throwing money down the drain (it’s the new renting instead of buying!). But as I’m not sure IVF will ever come in to the picture, my husband and I will be reassessing IUIs at the end of the summer.
Last thing: yesterday, a woman who’s leaving our office brought in her baby girl for her good-byes. Usually these things hurt like hell. Getting baby-ambushed during the two-week wait is, as I said to my TWW buddy Hopeful Worrywart, sucky. This time, though, it was okay. She was prettiest, smiliest baby girl I’ve ever seen. She was absolutely adorable and chubby. She kept on looking over at me with a big, toothless grin that said, “Hi! Nice to meet ya! I LOVE flirting with people!” Then she’d do the thing babies do, go spastic, yelp, and then bury her face in her stuffed animal.
I thought to myself that maybe everyone’s right. Maybe my husband’s observation is true. It doesn’t matter how we get our kids here – the goal is to have them here. She was a sweet little reminder of what we’re actually trying to accomplish.