All this talk about eggs has me thinking about chickens. Can you imagine if you had to pop out an egg that was bigger than your head every month? It makes me really glad to be human and to have teeny tiny eggs.
Speaking of eggs, I fear mine may have popped out despite the spells and tinctures and general “stop that egg!” energy being focused on the thing. I had a bit of a temperature climb this morning. It was small; in fact, it was still very much within my usual pre-ovulation range, but it freaked me out. It is also quite probable that I made the temperature higher by tossing and turning and waking up every half hour between about 2:30 and 6:00 this morning or that the big glass of wine I had last night–the only wine I’ve had all week–impacted my temps a little. In fact, the more I think about it, the more likely that is. Hmm. That sort of ruins my plans to be pissed off and hopeless today.
The thing is as soon as I saw that temperature, I felt like I was reliving the first insemination all over again, and I’ve been walking around dejected all morning. J, on the other hand, is hopeful–and she’s the true cynic in the relationship. Who knows?
What I do know is that Mr. Goodman felt so bad about missing my message that he produced two samples to ship in the same package. When I told J, she said, “He felt so bad that he jerked off a second time? Way to take one for the team!” We’re going to have more sperm than we know what to do with (although I doubt his second donation will have many swimmers). I dreamt last night that when we opened the package, there were two big syringes and a couple of ziplock baggies full of semen and that J decided she might as well inseminate too. Weird. And a little disgusting too.
I guess I’m conflicted. I know that within a couple of days I’ll have all kinds of phantom symptoms regardless of the timing, so I suppose I need to just distract myself. That bottle of Glenlivet is looking like a pretty good distraction about now.