Tomorrow marks 28 days from the start of my first post-birth control period. If I’m ovulating like the normal person my blood tests led me to believe I am, I should have been “trying” hard enough this month to make conception a possibility. If I’m cycling like a normal person (which would be a first), I will know by the end of this week whether or not my period has been missed. According to the highly scientific ovulation predictor I found via WebMD, I should have a period or a positive pregnancy test tomorrow. However, I have never in my life had a normal 28 to 35 day cycle off the pill, so I am pretty much 100% convinced there is no implantation happening right now (despite the fact that I did have some very low, very bizarre cramping this weekend, which I have never, in all my terrible menstruation history, experienced before). If I haven’t started a period by Wednesday, I will take a pregnancy test on Thursday morning. No one cares about this, I know, but I need to proclaim this in a public forum in order to shame myself into waiting until Thursday. (I already used up a very expensive, not-from-the-99-Cent-Store test on Saturday, because I cannot wait.)
I thought it was a good idea for me to be super casual about “actively trying” for the first few months, because I assumed obsessively tracking ovulation and taking temperatures would consume my life and make me insufferable. Little did I know that not obsessively tracking ovulation and taking temperatures would make me equally insufferable. If there’s nothing doing* this week, I am going to feel like I wasted precious, precious time.
*Using this phrase makes me feel like my grandmother, which is something I pretty much always aspire to. (And yes, I love ending sentences with prepositions. I am a rebel.)