So, it seems quite a few of us ladies in the blogosphere are sitting here on our pretty asses waiting for January to start an IVF cycle (Ms. Expecting and Ms. Non Sequitur come to mind, as well as a couple of others). This means we’ve gotta stare down December like it’s got no right to be here, like we don’t even care about dusting off our Charlie Brown Christmas Tree and putting Bailey’s in our morning coffee BECAUSE THAT IS TOTALLY LEGITIMATE DURING THE HOLIDAY SEASON. Basically, if we could start snapping our fingers all West Side Story-like to make the next month run along now, we would.

Having done a biopsy on my uterine lining, I now have to wait for the results, which means I’m currently stuck in the middle of a “natural cycle” (ie. a waste of time). Except, just when I was starting to think I could forget about fertility this month and focus on other important things in life — buying a water fountain for my cat; watching the fifth episode of Homeland; discovering how gin and watermelon juice were made for each other — that force of evil known as Hope decided to show up, in the form of EWCM.

For some women, this isn’t anything special, but I’ve read study after study declaring it’s the only REAL sign of fertility, that it’s the best indication you’re ovulating and that your body is jonesing for spermies. I’ve had EWCM envy for years — the last time I remember seeing it was as a teenager, but since going off the pill, it never returned. I’d given up on ever seeing it again, but then yesterday, at 8 a.m., there it was!

And where was my hubby? A 2.5-hour drive away. I wouldn’t be able to tackle him until at least 8 hours later, probably missing my window. Is it crazy that I tried to think of a way to go about my work day while in a headstand to prevent it from escaping?

In any case, we did the deed, and while I have zero expectation of it leading to anything, I’m again in that annoying position of letting Hope in the door and allowing her to stay for the next two weeks. I’m keeping her in the basement with our mouldy carpets and rotting shower curtain, though, because she does NOT deserve to be here.