Ovulation Pity Party
The pee stick has spoken.
My leutenizing hormone is ramping up and according to science I stand a good chance of dropping an egg in the next 12 to 36 hours.
Will this ovum be a winner? Hey, I know, let’s design women’s bodies in such a way that 14 days (that’s 144 suspense-packed hours if you subtract sleep) must pass before we can find out.
And while we’re at it, let’s design the human brain so that even though the only time conception has ever happened for me it ended in miscarriage, I have a desperate surge of HOPE.
Doing shots of diabetic cough syrup to make my cervical mucus less hostile.
Eating 24 of these weird rabbit poo looking Chinese herbal supplements daily from my acupuncturist.
Standing on my head while I stuff plastic softcups up my chocha after intercourse every 48 hours.
Put it all together and you have a woman in her late 30’s stacking up the months and years while babies come practically flying out of everyone else’s uteruses.
And wowzers, that’s the first time I’ve spelled “uterus” as a plural.
Never did I imagine that I’d come to think of having a baby as the ultimate privilege. They tell me that my time will come and that I’ll look back on these years and laugh and wish I’d taken advantage of my relative freedom.
Can anyone confirm this?