I knew I likely hadn't ovulated for at least two months, so starting my period four days early wasn't entirely surprising.
What was surprising was that instead of wallowing, loading up on chocolate, and uncorking the closest bottle of wine, I enthusiastically drafted my Plan of Attack for this cycle. I touched on it in the previous post, and boy howdy, it is in action.
New pee sticks for the fertility monitor have been ordered and are en route. My thermometer and the Making Babies book are bedside. I've just guzzled my second enormous mug of raspberry leaf tea today, and my innards are buzzing with vitamin B12. I've taken to walking around the neighborhood twice a day, and now my neighbors just peer at me quizzically while they water their lawns. I've lost five pounds over the last several weeks; not huge, but I'll take it. Fruits and veggies are my friends and I've managed to mostly avoid gluten and sugar (excepting a couple of transgressions on Mother's Day, but who can blame me?). This week I started a dairy detox.
Basically, I'm not fucking around here.
And as I mentioned previously, I'm giving it until July before I put my fertility issues in the hands of a specialist. If I need to go back to a doctor, I'm not jacking around with my regular OB anymore.
But if the universe is willing, I think I can make this happen on my own. I got a surge of hope, and I'm clinging to it like a life raft.