2dp3dt. Wow. I feel all grown-up writing that. My first post-IVF signifier.
But seriously, folks, let's talk about the progesterone. How do you get through the 2ww, let alone a pregnancy, on this stuff? The constipation is AWFUL. And constipation when you're inserting rectal suppositories every evening is NO JOKE. I need to pick up some prune juice tomorrow. Are those fibrogel type drinks ok to take when you're, ahem, trying to be pregnant?
The progesterone, as all of you who have gone before me know, is also a fun provider of other symptoms. Like sore breasts and a crampy uterus. I had to give Hope a serious talking-to last night as she kept saying: "4dpo isn't too far off a normal implantation day. Maybe it's implantation!" Then I kicked her down the stairs and locked her in the cupboard. I can still hear her banging on the door, but I'm trying to balance tuning into her moanings with a good dose of scepticism. I had a moment of too-convincing scepticism earlier, though, when I remembered how I didn't get promoted the Christmas before we got married. I was absolutely devastated, thinking about how I would never be able to plan a wedding and get promoted in the same period. After I got over the devastation I just focused on having a good six months and enjoying the wedding preparations, and on the runway after we landed back from honeymoon I got the text that told me I'd been promoted. I decided that the IVF might be like that, just because the Powers that Be don't want to hand out fulfillment and happiness that readily. They like us to suffer first.
Oh shit. I've just realised I wrote the "just relax" story of my promotion. I take it all back!
Of course that analogy also implies that I'm now thinking I'd get pregnant the next time we did IVF. Which of course is nonsense, but honey, this is my brain on progesterone - you can't ask too much of it.
I've also retreated to the guest bedroom as the stonkingly vivid dreams wake me up, and H just being in bed with me then disables my ability to go back to sleep easily. H is a bit unhappy about this and accused me of secreting George Clooney upstairs. Sadly, no. Somehow I don't think George would see me as much of a catch.
Oh and did I mention that I decided to have a nice relaxing bath and was having a lovely time until H came running upstairs to tell me that water was pouring through the ceiling? Nice. Not sure where the leak is but hopefully the insurance will pay up.
Sorry this is so random. I think that's just where I am right now.