I really wanted to be one of those success stories. You know, those women who get pregnant before they move onto their next big step? I wanted to be able to call my doctor and tell him to forget about that Clomid prescription, because this was our lucky cycle and we got pregnant the "natural" way.
For a second, I thought I was. For a second, I let hope back in.
I started talking pregnancy tests on 9 DPO, even thought I knew logically that it was too early. Negative, of course. 10DPO and 11DPO came up with the same results. I stopped testing because I figured if it was going to happen, it would have by now.
12DPO came and I started lightly spotting which is normal for me a day or two before my period. Since I was having period like cramps, I figured my favorite aunt would come knocking yesterday, on 13DPO.
But she didn't. All day yesterday, I was on high alert, feeling for cramps, waiting for that familiar gush that signaled the start of a new cycle. But it never came.
Today, as I inputted my temperature into Fertility Friend, I realized I was a day late. For as long as I've been tracking, that has never happened. My heart skipped a beat and I rushed to take a pregnancy test. This has to be it, right?
No matter how I turned the test, no matter what light it was under, no matter how hard I squinted, it was negative.
I thought I had come to terms with the fact that this cycle wasn't going to work back on 9DPO when I had my first negative test, but that little bit of hope snuck back in and made me think "maybe, just maybe."
Now, I'm angry. I'm ready to move onto Clomid; heck, I was ready months ago. But once again, my body is proving that it can't do anything right. Even when I want my period to start, it taunts me with that little bit of hope and then makes me come crashing down again.
I hate hope. Hope's a bitch.