Temp dropped again this morning, so I don't think there is much doubt. Just to be certain, I took a test. The disgust of the test at being wasted in such a fashion was evident, and it clearly gave me the antropomorphic finger in the form of extra whiteness where the test line was. Yeah, fuck you too FR.
I am disappointed, naturally. Not as cross or upset as I was yesterday when I felt like it was the utter end. Just . . . resigned. We've had three cycles of active trying and four of excellent timing, and only a chemical pregnancy. I know quite well that that isn't so long and blah blah fishcakes.
But . . . but . . . I want my baby. Goddamnit. I want to be a mother in more than name. I want to be pregnant.
And I'm not.
Just as with the rest of life, there is nothing to do but sigh, shrug, maybe throw a fit and eat a Ding Dong (or two) and get on with it. We'll discuss whether or not we want to try next cycle given that if it were successful (stifle your laughter, please), the pregnancy would be on the same timeline as Gabriel's. I don't know that either of us are up for that.
And I need something else to focus on. So I guess it's back to weight loss. The weather is gorgeous, so I ought to start walking around the complex. Maybe losing some weight will make me feel better about myself. And beyond that, maybe it will aid the fertility. Worth a shot anyway.
So. . . yeah. Onwards through the slog. My period does not appear to be imminent (nor should it be - Monday is the due date), so I'll have some sex, enjoy the weekend, eat some Ding Dongs and get things lined up for next cycle (when I will also work on cutting back caffeine).