Here is what I know now:
I thought I had my body figured out, sort of.
I thought that I knew what to expect, sort of.
I believed that because lightning struck once, it just might strike again.
I was arrogant; I was cocky.
I really did think that baby #4 was a given.
And I thought that, even if I didn’t get pregnant with my one lucky post-weaning ovulation, I was at peace with taking Clomid again. No big deal.
But now, as I stand here on the eve of swallowing my first Clomid pill in many years, I know just how wrong I was about it all.