I didn't get two lines this month. On my ovulation tests, that is.
They just wouldn't come up the way they were supposed to. I'm not sure if that's still left-over side-effects from the miscarriage, or if it means I never ovulated, or what. But, I tell you, it's maddening.
Because of the wacky way that I ovulate, a pregnancy test isn't helpful until one week after I've missed my period.
I was three days late. Three days. And now, something is going on down there. Something that looks suspiciously like a monthly visitor I do not want to see.
This is like a form of torture. If I'm not going to get pregnant, fine. But must I suffer through three days of waiting? Three days of getting my hopes up, all the while trying desperately not to? Knowing that with one spot of red in my underwear the whole thing will be torn away from me again?
I know. Patience. Faith. God's timing. Patience again.
But I'm all stocked up on patience, thanks. It's time for a little instant gratification. I know that people have it waay worse than me, so perhaps it's inappropriate for me to whine here on my little corner of the internet. Maybe even at all.
Call me weak. Call me selfish. Call me impatient. Call me whatever you want.
I'm ready. Ready and waiting for this baby. And tired of this endless cycle of praying and building myself up, trying not to hope and readying myself for the fall.
Please, please, please. Let this month be the month. Please let our baby be ready for us, too.