That is the sound most uttered by me this weekend. Natch, my relaxing transfer day (heeeeey, Valium, how you doing?) gave way quickly to a nasty-ass cold that had me violently sneezing all day yesterday and violently coughing all night last night. I had a dream that I killed the Three Amigos by coughing too hard. Yikes, y'all. It seriously feels like I've given myself a hernia.
So Operation Patience=Virtue continues until later this week. The trigger shot should be out of my system by Wednesday, so I may start peeing on stuff Thursday. But I don't know. Friday would be a safer bet, because a positive would be more likely to show up then. In the meantime, although it's probably psychological bullshit and/or the horking, I am feeling hungrier than usual and my uterus feels, I don't know, busy. Tight. A little cramped. (To be expected, with all those Republicans peering up in there.) (*rimshot*) My alternate realities are oscillating wildly between these possibilities: A) I am not pregnant (probably from all the horking) and must make my peace with that, B) I am pregnant and can start picking out nursery bedding (psych your mind, I've already picked it out), or C) I am pregnant with triplets and gawd help us (me and the Republicans clamoring to get in my ute).
Now, this birth control-loving slut is going to go to work to take my mind off of the triplets and horking.