It’s still fairly early in my cycle, day 10, but I think I’m giving up on this one already.
My BBT has just been too erratic: 97.9 one day and 97.2 the next, then 97.0 and up to 97.7. It’s been all over the place. And I don’t know if that really, truly means anything — after all, it was the same way last month and, miracle of all miracles, I ovulated on day 14! — but I do know that the only two times I have ovulated and conceived, my temps were nothing like that. While they’ve never been super steady for the entire follicular phase, they haven’t been bipolar either. This bipolar BBT is making me nervous…and stealing my confidence that this cycle will be The One.
So I’m trying to adjust my expectations. After a disappointing cycle last month, I’m afraid to let myself hope. I’m afraid to count on anything. I have always known that you need to ovulate in order to make a baby. But I have now learned that ovulation does not necessarily equal conception. That Clomid is not a magical bean that automatically creates something great out of something small. That hoping with all my might, wishing on the shooting stars in a meteor shower, and praying constantly will not always give me what I want.
And so while I move forward with things as I’ve always done them — Clomid, frequent sex, and far too many vitamins — I’m also trying to plan for all of that to fail. This means envisioning our trip abroad in October, Teddy Graham’s due date in December, the holidays, the start of the new year, and my sister’s baby shower, all without my own baby in my own belly. It also means beginning the search for an RE. I’m going to take my time in doing this, but I’ll start looking, start asking questions, start trying to figure out where I go from here.
Which is scary.
But also — it’s freeing.
There is freedom in not believing that this cycle will be the cycle. As I go about every day, I can breathe easier knowing that I don’t have to make a baby right now. I would love to be holding my second child in my arms by my 30th birthday. That means I need to conceive by mid-November. Which gives me another two or three cycles. Okay, I can do that! And I really, really want to have another child by the time our Cupcake turns three, which means conceiving by early March. Surely, something has to happen by then! Of course, I know there really is no “surely” about any of this. No guarantees. March may come and go and there will still be no second line on an HPT. Or I could conceive, at any point, and lose again a month or more down the road. But — but — by extending my own personal deadlines, by looking at the bigger picture and preparing for a few “worst case scenarios,” it takes a little of the stress off of my shoulders right now. It removes the pressure from this very cycle, right here and now.
Of course, that does not mean I completely lack hope. There will always be that, no matter how dire the circumstances or how low the odds. Maybe I am just telling myself all of this so that I don’t feel so let down when CD1 is upon me again. Maybe I am hoping that by relaxing my own expectations, the old, overused adage “maybe if you just relax…” will prove to be true. And I know if I do see my period again in three or four weeks, there will still be disappointment. Sadness. Heartache. But I’m hoping that, with this new way of thinking (which is still a work in progress, if I’m being honest), my heart, soul, and faith won’t be pulverized at the first sight of blood.
I’m hoping. But we shall see if any of this really holds up a few weeks down the road. We shall see.