Today I got my period: on day 41 of my cycle. Trying to have a baby is like holding your breath for over a month, only to exhale and start it all over again the next. I wish I could be nonchalant about this, but somehow along the way starting a family has become everything to me. This sort of longing gets into your bones. It starts coloring your decisions. Which is probably why Matt just returned home from picking up chocolate (with nary a complaint). When he saw the tears I think he knew instantly lots and lots of chocolate would be involved (the stash: Andes mints, a Cadbury bar, and mousse...I'm already in a happier place).
With the odds stacked against us (I don't start Clomid until this upcoming cycle, and sheesh, we had a negative home test) we knew - rationally - heck, I probably wasn't, but that didn't stop me from looking at crib combos on Target.com this afternoon, or Matt demanding (oh lord, I hope in jest) - if I was pregnant - that we call him/her Cletus...as in "Cletus the Fetus". (I cannot make this stuff up.) Even with my positively screwed up reproduction system (hell, whole pelvic cavity) and a staggeringly long 36-day cycle, 41 days should only be reserved for pre-menopausal women. But I'm looking at the bright side: at least I'm getting a chocolate bar out of this. And yes, maybe I will have that drink.