Today was the day that I started peeing on ovulation predictor kits.officially. I pee’d on one yesterday, but that was just practice. Like I need it.
Well. Actually I do. Because when I was 21, my abusive ex bullied me into having an abortion, I turned around and had my tubes tied. So, I’m the only infertile I know who doesn’t know how to track my cycle. Sick joke that nature plays on me though? Because my cycles are regular and IF has blessed me with more knowledge then babies, I can tell when I ovulate. That’s extra special knowledge on those cycles when we aren’t cycling.
Like all the ones I have in my future.
Makes me wonder why we just didn’t invest in the reversal. Oh yeah, because we never imagined it would take so many cycles with my good numbers and my regular cycles. Blarg.
Fridays are busy. I need to drag the monkey from bed and get everyone out of the house by 8:30. Then drive away from my clinic 20 minutes to drop monkey off at school. Officially I need to give 24 hours notice if I’m going to be late picking him up, but if it’s urgent, like a positive OPK, and I get to them early enough, the school can make arrangements and keep him.
This morning in my sleepy state, I crawled out of bed and stumbled in the dark to the bathroom and pee. Then glance at the clock. It’s not the middle of the night. It’s just after 6:30. It’s just stormy. I grab an OPK and dribble what pee I have left on it. well. Some on it. Mostly next to it.
It’s like I don’t have a lifetime of experience peeing on things.
Blank dry white stares back. I shove it back in the wrapped and drink a big glass of warm water (goes through your system faster. See what you learn as a sex worker who pees on people for a living?)
I lay back down and try to go to sleep. I end up starring at the ceiling waiting to have to pee. Monkey flops over and uses and arm to pin me in bed snoring in my ear.
I have no idea how I will ever get him to sleep in his own bed when I love sleeping with him so much. But I digress.
Finally it’s getting late and I sneak out from under Monkey to try to pee waking him in the process. I grab his milk, kiss the Mr good morning and grab the open OPK and run to the other bathroom because at this point, I have to poo.
Sorry. TMI. I know.
I take the OPK out of the wrapper and… Fuck. Two bright lines. At this point Monkey has found me in the bathroom and wants in my lap. He also wants me to make him a waffle. Possible at the same time.
I run through the kitchen, pour him a glass of milk, stick a waffle in the toaster and run for the master bath where the expensive smilie face opk’s reside. I was saving the three I have left for the weekend but obviously, it may be their time to shine.
And yes. I realize that I am spending $$$$$$ on IVF and skimping on the $$ OPK kits. It’s my brain. Is broken.
By the time I get back to the master bath and open the fancy OPK, Monkey has once again caught up with me and is very curious as to what I’m doing and how I could possibly do it without his help. And? Because I’m back in the master bath, my Mr follows me in to talk about our dinner plans for the evening.
So this is how I started 43. Sitting on a toilet trying to pee on a stick. But not on monkeys hands. While Mr stood in the bathroom door combing his hair and chatting about dinner. Me trying not to poop in front of them. While under time pressure because its well passed the time in which I can ask for child care after preschool without a huge lecture and am in fact, coming up the Crap, we are late, eat your breakfast in the car, portion of the morning we all know and love.
After thinking about it for WELL passed the 20 to 40 seconds it stats on the box, the expensive OPK decided to veto the cheapie and says no, today is not The Big O. Waste of an expensive stick. Waste of a morning. And waste of a private moment to poop.
Tonight, to celebrate my birthday, we are going to the same fancy bar that I took my sister to for her bachelorette party. And showed me boobs to the bartender. Bartenders, as it turns out. Because that was the night that I learned that you can’t just show one person in a crowded room your boobs. I wonder if they will remember me.
Hello 43. I see the theme of this year will be humiliation. Beats the heartbreak of last year.