I would believe that maybe I did ovulate those few days ago when the second OPK line was nearly as dark as the first. Even though it was cycle day 30-something. Even though I was on progesterone. Even though I knew all hope was lost.
I would wonder if my constant exhaustion this week was a sign. A sign of you-know-what.
I would ponder that ugly red pimple in between my breasts and smile because I know the last time I had a pimple there was, oh, about three months before my daughter was born.
I would be convinced that I’m peeing more lately not because I’m drinking so much water but because something in my body, in my uterus, is making it happen.
And I would think that the cervical mucus that makes a puddle (yes, a puddle!) in my underwear is a good thing because, you know, the last time I had this much CM was during my pregnancy with Teddy Graham.
Yes, if I was an eternal optimist, I would still have hope.
But I’m not and I don’t. I think I used to be one of those types, but I lost my optimism early. Instead, I know it must be the progesterone. Right? I finished it a few days ago and I’ve never had any noticeable symptoms from taking it, but what other explanation is there? I just wish my body would stop teasing me.
Because here is the truth: I’m not an optimist, but I am a liar. I will always have hope. As long as there is God and magic and miracles, I will hope.