If there's anything yummier than a Starbucks latte with a bunch of sugars when you're feeling a bit ornery, I don't know what it is. It's not an exaggeration when I say it feels like I'm drinking a smile.
Need to think out loud a bit...if you could care less about my baby-making adventures, skip this post...
Trip to the OB/GYN today was educational, thought-provoking...I'm very glad I went now rather than say, 2 months from now when I'm out of Clomid, because that disappointment would've been crushing. They likely won't refill my Clomid anymore; I've been on it for over a year, albeit on and off—one month on, two months off, and sometimes no nookie when I was on it, thanks to Husby's head. But the combination of my age and the potential for nastiness, like ovarian cancer, keeps them from prescribing it for longer periods of time. I get that. And heredity isn't on my side in that regard, so I accept it rather easily. What it means though, is if I'm unable to get pregnant by this plan, then my doctor's office refers me to a fertility specialist. Which my insurance won't cover. Which means it's back to nature.
So...we're checking Husby's swimmers again and my progesterone level, and we'll keep trying. I have an ovulation monitor and a better grasp on my body's timing. I'm worried, but determined to start eating better, exercising, and get my PCOS under control. I've been getting a look at myself in full-length mirrors lately, which then makes me want to put my fist through said mirror, but since that anger is counterproductive and we can't afford the bad luck, I'll get walking and doing yoga instead.