I tested again this morning, and it was so very negative. There may as well have been a neon-flashing, “Not this time, sucker!” I don’t think it could have been more negative. I stared at the test for the longest time just waiting and waiting. But nothing. I still don’t have my period, but I think I know why: I believe I ovulated a couple of days later than FF is suggesting, which means I’m most likely 12dpo and should be starting to spot today. This would account for why I wasn’t getting positive OPKs and would also mean that our inseminations were way too early. My still low temperature, erratic emotions, vice-grip headache, and crampiness today would indicate that my theory is correct. I expect Auntie F to be knocking on my door with her overstuffed suitcases any moment.
Naturally, I’ve not been doing my best today, and I pity my poor wife. I made some poached eggs this morning and upon asking her how they were, she replied innocently and honestly that they were fresh and good, but maybe a little dry (and they were). I lost it and started crying, but clearly not because the eggs were dry. Hell, I know J likes my cooking, that this was unusual, that I hadn’t been paying attention to how long I was cooking them, and that, frankly, she wasn’t saying anything negative about me, but rather stating a simple fact–about eggs, no less. And still, I cried. This was not one of my finer moments, but my reaction was clearly not about eggs, and she called me on it. So, like the wonderful wife that she is, she called me over next to her, and wrapped her arms around me while I proceeded to curl into a ball and sob. She smoothed my hair, and we mourned the loss of hope once again, and she made me breathe.
However, my sobfest took place at an unfortunate time, for we had been watching something on one of the cable news stations while eating breakfast. When the program ended, I was still crying, and J was still comforting me, so neither of us knew what was going to come on next. Suddenly, we both saw and heard this young woman talking about having her baby and insisting that her baby live on the streets with her. She was a whore, living on the streets, and she had a brand new baby, and this just set me off even more. I felt very sorry for myself as I thought about this completely irresponsible girl who was saturated in this drug culture and was determined to expose her child to it. Why must the universe throw these things in my face nearly every time we face the end of an unsuccessful cycle? How is this fair? The answer, of course, is that it’s not fair, but damn, what unfortunate timing!
Since this morning’s breakdown, I have finally found a slightly more comfortable headspace. I won’t call it zen, but I’m not sobbing into J’s shoulder nor pounding my fists into pillows (that’s always pretty). Now, I’m eager for my period to begin so that we can just move on with this last cycle with Mr. G. It’s raining here, which makes for a perfect day to sit inside with my sweetheart watching movies and eating popcorn. I’m glad it’s raining, glad we’ll soon have another fresh start, and while my baser self wants to wallow in self-pity, I’m determined to pick back up and move forward.