All of us are acutely aware of what tomorrow is. While I’m not in the same place I was last year with Mother’s Day, I sure didn’t want to be shown that I’m not actually pregnant on Mother’s Day. That’s some cold ass shit.
I’ve restarted acupuncture and I’m going twice a week. I’ve been using my moxie stick. It smells like I’m smoking a bowl, but it apparently helps to warm my uterus. I’ve been trying to up my anti-oxidants. I have been taking my vitamins like a champ. AND we timed intercourse this month. All the time that small voice in the back of my head was saying, “don’t get your hopes up.” And I didn’t, but then again, I did.
I mean come on. We’ve been riding this freaking ride for SEVEN years now. Maybe, just maybe the universe was tossing us a bone. Then my boobs got really big. Then my attitude started getting really bad-I found myself snapping on people, okay mostly my dear sweet man, and thought: “Self, this is not normal. Maybe it is just an extreme case of PMS, but MAYBE it is for real this time.”
Then I get up this morning and I know it is going to start. My boobs are less sore and my low back is a whole lot more sore. And I just know. And then, she begins. What a heartless bitch.