So the 2ww is bad enough, but I’ve had about enough of this. My uterus can kiss my ass.

Really, it probably could. It’s in there anyway.

It’s been a going-on-three-year fight with IF. Throughout it all, we always seem to have just one goal in front of us — baby steps, if you will.

And we can never make it to that step.

It started with figuring out when I was ovulating, you know back in the day when you assumed that if you get sperm into an ovulating body that come hell or high water you would get preggo within a year. So, I got well acquainted with OPKs and intimately involved with the business end of my cervix. We charted temps. I peed on sticks. I tracked the EWCM. I took the cough syrup tablets. Even bloodwork.

Which is when we realized the hubby’s swim team couldn’t make it off the starting blocks.

So we had the surgery. And the numbers have drastically improved. And we scheduled the IUI. In my mind, I was thinking: Call on CD1. Pee on OPK stick. Wait for green light. Go to big city. Have nookie with ultrasound wand. Donate pint of blood for shits and giggles.

And there was no proof of ovulation, so the IUI was canceled.

Okay, fine. I never really wanted to do an IUI anyhow, and it didn’t delay us in starting the IVF cycle.

All we have to do to start the IVF cycle is get my period. Guess which element is drastically lacking from this picture?

For the love of all things soft and cuddly, can I just have my period already? Or a baby? I’ll take either at this point, though I would lean more than a little toward option 2.


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