It's that time again folks.
I'm at the point in my cycle when I start looking over my chart several times a day, weighing the timeliness of sex vs. ovulation, scrutinizing my temperature pattern, and considering the possibilities. Sometimes I allow myself to be optimistic and I think "Hey, this might be the cycle." Other times when I am in my most cynical frame of mind I think "Right, like it matters" and I pour a glass of wine. Sometimes these thoughts occur within minutes of each other and the wine gets poured out.
I am temporarily albeit reliably schizophrenic at this stage. I realize how foolish I am to allow myself to feel hopeful and excited like I did when we first started trying (a year and a half ago). That naive fantasy has only been met with one disappointing plastic one-lined stick after another. I drift off in thought and where Tim asks me what's on my mind I don't really know how to tell the truth - it's the same depressing answer day after day. I am obsessed with what my temperature will be in the morning - if it is up there is hope and if it is down I am sunk again. The suspense makes the days go by at a snails pace and I am no good at waiting. At this stage I either want two lines or to get on with shedding the evidence of another month of failure and start again.