Crap

I don't swear often, but there's only one word for all this infertility stuff--mindfuck.

Despite all my "foolproof" symptoms, I have two failed pregnancy tests and a period (that came on Saturday) to prove I was a fool. Oh well. Honestly, the waiting is the hard part. I can deal with failure more than the waiting...the night before I was going to test (on CD13), I couldn't sleep. Yes, I was that keyed.

So, we begin Round 3 on letrozole. I've been counting the months, trying to guess how many cycles my doctor will let me go through (with sex alone, and then with IUI), and I figure that if it comes to this, I would probably be doing IVF by next summer. Not that I'm there yet, but I have to be planning for failure in order not to be too surprised by it.

Dolor exquisito

I was looking through my archives and came across this post on the 2ww from nearly four years ago. Ironically, I could be writing this exact post today.

Just like I was on that cold, January day in 2008, I am 10dpo. And just like they were then, my boobs are killing me now. The thing I'm trying really, really hard not to focus on is the fact that 8 1/2 months after I wrote that post, Tyler was born.

The funny thing is, I've been poking my boobs, hoping desperately for boob pain, for about a year now (with, of course, the 6-month break to fix my thyroid). I've been looking for soreness, but I would describe what I'm feeling now as a sharp pain. Was it like this before? I have no idea--four years ago, people! I do know, however, that I'm not imagining it.

The key difference between now and four years ago, of course, is that I am not freshly grieving the loss of a baby. Instead, I am chasing around a 3-year-old. And that in itself is a reason to take this week in stride...