Since we ended up not starting ART this month because of a pesky UTI (been clear for several weeks now, thanks for asking.) this was basically our last shot at conceiving on our own. Of course, we haven't prevented since Robbie's birth coming up on three years ago, so I figured the chances of that were nil, but since David had that SA that showed rock star sperm, I think hope seeped in a little.
And to be frank, I don't know what's going on lately, but we've been humping like bunnies. Well, at least by our standards. Maybe I'm hitting my sexual peak or something, I don't know. But neither of us are complaining. So.. you know.. hope, I had it.
Then 4 days after I ovulated this month, by boobs started hurting like whoa! I mean, bring tears to my eyes, cuss under my breath hurt when I took off my bra. They haven't hurt like that since I was pregnant. I started daydreaming about the big brother shirt I'd get for Robbie.
I started testing at 9dpo. I mean, there was some tests in my drawer burning a hole in my.....drawer? They NEEDED to be peed on. Of course, it was negative. As was this mornings. This morning, in fact, it was so negative that the test line was actually whiter than the rest of the test window. Hope is a bully. Today she pointed and laughed, "No, Trish, I mean REALLY negative." By this afternoon, I was already spotting.
Tomorrow should bring CD1, which means a call to the fertility clinic. And thus we begin. I informed David that I was preparing myself for ladybit prodding and he should prepare himself for hormonal rage attacks. He had the nerve to smile like he was looking forward to it, but then thought better and hugged me. I guess we're as ready as we'll ever be.