Vent warning. I wasn’t even going to post this, because I feel like I come off all complain-y. But its my blog so whatever.
It just goes to show you how a temperature on a thermometer has the potential to rule one’s mood. I’m happy to go into more detail for anyone who is interested, but for now here’s the short but sweet version. I take my temperature every morning to track ovulation. My before ovulation temperatures are about 97.2, afterwards about 97.7. The time between ovulation and the visitor is usually about 14 days for me so I start to watch for the dreaded temperature drop that means the visitor is coming.
I got that drop this morning. Which means I’m out for this month. Again.
You’d think that I’d start to expect it but I don’t. I mean I do logically but emotionally I hope. And I guess hope is good but its saddening when its false. And every month it gets a little worse. The first couple of days are always the worst. Sometimes I’m just sad. Sometimes I’m a little angry at the world, sometimes I don’t want to be anywhere near anyone who is pregnant. Sometimes its all three. Sometimes I’m ok. It dies down, it always does, but it doesn’t make those few days suck any less.
The best way I can think to describe it is to have someone or something dangling the very thing you’ve wanted your whole life in front of you, and then watching it disappear. It starts to effect other areas in your life, too. Planned “BD’ing”, as it were, gets old. Peeing on sticks gets old. Waking up at 6am on Saturday to stick a thermometer in your mouth gets old. Your husband watching you sad as a mom with a baby walks by gets old. Worrying about where the money is going to come from for the expensive procedure we may need to have a baby gets old. It gets to a point where you can’t truly relax about it, because once you know enough about your cycle, you’ll unconsciously plan anyway. (Also happens if you’re a Type A personality – what? don’t look at me!)
While the majority of the time I truly do believe my time will come and that it will all make sense in the end, for the first couple days of each cycle, well, the logical part of my brain shuts off a bit. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not as though I feel I have nothing to be thankful for. I am glad that I have things to keep me busy and sane (read: Run It Out) and a husband who has been so supportive through my craziness.
But I would just really like it to be my turn.