If we're going to go down this road and try to have another child, I suppose I should ready myself for my old favorite pastimes, The Great Unknown and Interminable Waiting. It's amazing how quickly you can forget these two, when you're just pleasantly going about your day,
slaving working unappreciatedly for your husband and raising your perfect daughter (no strikethroughs there, baby).
But then you go and ask your body to do something and all hell breaks loose.
I'm supposed to be having my own, free-of-artificial-hormones cycle here, which we would like to see end in a period before I sign up for my post-surgical HSG. As if the short-n-weird period I had at the end of my faux cycle hadn't wadded my panties sufficiently, now, three or four days after what should/might have been ovulation, I'm spotting.
Hello, Great Unknown! C'mon in! Kick your shoes off and get comfy! Who's that you've got with you? Oh, hey, Interminable Wait! How the hell'r you?
Nothing to be done but hang out and see what the radiological oracle pronounces in a few weeks.
Okay, whine off.