According to my mittelschmertz and handy-dandy OPK, I am ovulating. As I type. Oh -- there it goes. All I can think is, "Who gives a singular shit?"
My husband insists we "try" anyway. Try to what? I think he's just on a (let's be honest, reasonable) campaign to get some semi-regular sex while my body is NOT a toxic dump of hormones. Get it while it's hot, sweetheart. This love machine is cranking out nookie for a limited time, after which it will be re-geared to make eggs and host embryos. Again.
In my head I am going down the commitment path toward one more IVF cycle with my eggs, provided the new RE can cook up a plan that gives me both renewed hope and sufficient confidence. The next step after that, if more steps are needed, will probably be to either move forward with a donor egg cycle or to consult with specialists in Washington, D.C. or Colorado. The expense of either scares the pants off me.
Speaking of which, I have wifely duties to attend to, so please excuse me as I now "try" to get pregnant. Hahahahahaha. Haha. Hahahahaha. Ha. That's rich.