Yeah, it's that point in the month where I wail and whine and cry and scream and basically bore the pants off anyone who's unlucky enough to stumble across this blog. This month, with added TMI! If you keep reading, at least you can't say I didn't warn you.
Unofficially, I am not pregnant this month. I know because I tested both Monday and Yesterday, and nada. On the other hand, I haven't actually gotten my period yet. In fact, if I turn my head sideways and squint, I can actually convince myself that there's still a chance I'm knocked up. After all, I'm technically either two days late or was due to start my period today (I'm late based upon the 26-day cycle my body's been doing since the ectopic, or due today based on a standard 28-day cycle). In reality, we did OPK s this month, so I know darn well not to expect to bleed until Friday at the earliest based on when I ovulated. However, what with the negative pg tests and all letting me know what's coming, I just wish my body would get on with it already. That way, I can be officially not pregnant and stop wanting to waste money on more tests that'll just depress me anyway.
I've actually tried to be good this month about not getting my hopes up and not obsessing too much ,and as a result learning I'm not pregnant has not been as difficult as it's been in past months. That said, I have been a powder keg these last two days. The tiniest things fill me with this unbelievable rage. I actually saw red a few times yesterday, and I'd thought that was just a saying. I've been working really hard at not taking that anger out on people who don't deserve it (like, say M and The Boy). Yesterday, I had both a success and a failure, and I kind of need to write about both.
First, the failure. M had a rough day yesterday -- whiny and clingy and generally your stereotypical "terrible two." By the time I started to try to cook dinner at around 5:30, she was in full-blown tantrum mode. Considering that she hates it when I cook on even her sunniest days. you can imagine the scene. After she yelled at me for 20 minutes, I managed to wrangle her into her high chair to eat a snack. And still, she would not shut up. She just kept repeating my name over and over and OVER again until I wanted to gouge my eyes out with a chopstick. Finally, I lost it, and I screamed at her. And not just some little yelp, but a full-throated "STOP IT!!!!!" She turned her head towards her high chair to hide from me, and we both started to cry. I hate myself for losing control like that. The last thing I want is for my little girl to fear me.
At least, however, having lost my cool with M shamed me enough to make me try harder to keep it together with The Boy. He called me at 6:20 to tell me that he was only just then leaving work (I'd been expecting him home at 6:30, and had been busting my ass to cook dinner for that time, all the while dealing with a screaming toddler). In the grand scheme of things, I know that his failure to call and warn me he'd be late wasn't that big a deal, but I was furious! I spent the next half hour steaming and mentally writing blog rants about our impending divorce. When he got home, though, I didn't scream at him. I just told him I was feeling too angry to talk rationally right at that moment, and needed to have a few quiet minutes. By the time I'd spent 10 minutes checking email and stuff, I was calm enough to acknowledge that he hadn't done anything wrong. I know it sounds like a tiny thing, but for me, it represents big progress, this effort at self-control. So, pretty please, can we pretend that other thing never happened and focus instead on the family member I didn't scream at yesterday? Thanks.
Anyway, that's all from here. I think I'm going to try to get a consult with the fertility specialist this month, to see if there's anything we can do to improve my chances of conceiving before we resort to IVF. There must be something, wouldn't you think?