(Okay, a really BIG nutshell – like I can ever be short winded about ANYTHING?)
So I was in a panic about an hour ago because I am down to only 5 home pregnancy tests in my arsenal. Target didn’t close until 9, so :: phew :: up to 8 tests again. I really wish they had more of the clearenced Target brand tests because those were soooo cheap last year.
You know, you really only need ONE. It’s just making sure it’s right one (i.e., one that says “Hell yeah!”)
The Clomid Pony has officially done a number on me. (We can’t blame buying more tests on it, though). So far today I nearly cried leaving Target (Clomid had me feeling all “woe is me” just because someone’s exwife has been pregnant THREE TIMES and, well you know…), I totally burst into tears in the first 10 minutes of the Sex & the City movie (which, weeping aside was so so so good), and I’m pretty sure I literally gave God the finger on my way out of the mini mart, where I went to look for Hostess cupcakes.
That last one was wrong in so many ways, the least of which is the lack of Hostess cupcakes (not even the Mexican off brand!).
Anyway – did I tell you this? – the results on Friday were actually good. My progesterone was good and high, suggesting that I probably did ovulate (which is good to know since I would have done that a WEEK AGO) and I probably escaped this cycle of Clomid cyst-free (echhh, but, woot!). I saw the midwife, not Dr. P (which is fine with me – here I go tempting fate again – because if I manage to get pregnant and have a low risk pregnancy I totally want her to deliver Plan B).
The midwife gave me the Stupidest Advice Ever: “Don’t test until Day 32!” (Seriously?? I have an arsenal and she thinks I’m going to wait another WEEK?)
RIGHT. As if, lady. I made it as far as yesterday (two tests) and so far nothin’.
But I guess that explains why I had to go to Target.
Stupid Clomid.