About the post that I wish this was.

I always* ovulate on cd18 or 19, even 20, so I thought nothing more about a random patch of fertile cervical fluid around cd12 and 13 beyond marking it on my chart.

I also thought very little about the next few days of temperatures in the mid- to high-98s – they were taken after several jetlagged nights of uncomfortable sleep, whether for three hours or for twelve, whether until four in the morning or until eleven, which, for my disarranged internal clock, seemed to be afternoon or late evening – until Fertility Friend had seen enough of it and slashed my chart into four quarters with two bright red lines.

Oh. My dear Friend, do you mean to suggest that I ovulated on cd14? The day five days earlier than usual, the day after my birthday, which was also the day of "pink champagne to be drunk and sushi to be eaten and goodbyes to be said," the latter of which I can now admit was euphemistic for taking one last roll in the sack before I took leave of my sweet husband for most of the rest of the summer?

All of a sudden the first quarter of this resignedly accepted two-month break had unexpectedly become an ever-dreaded two-week wait.

Some "symptoms" started appearing a promisingly quick eight days past ovulation and I began my usual fantasies. How to joyously yet tearfully beam while watching that second line appear; how to excitedly yet graciously share the news here; how to keep my family at bay by determinedly waving around a beer bottle from which it would almost look like I was drinking; how to fit in some secretive let's-get-ready-for-baby-at-American-prices shopping sprees; and, oh yes, of course – how to tell Gilles.

And oh, the lesson I would have learned, the wisdom I would have gained – and then been able to impart to others. Yes, yes, it's true, I imagined being able to laugh tinklingly, smugly, knowingly; just relax, take a break, and it'll happen. I'd heard the advice before and never would have believed it, but ... the simple fact of agreeing to an overly cruel two months off was enough for us! Right away I just relaxed, which caused my body to magically shoot out an egg on the eve of my departure, five whole days ahead of my normal clockwork schedule, just in time for our goodbye shag – on my birthday, no less! And that's all it took. [Simpering glance downwards at the cherished bundle cradled tenderly in my arms.] Isn't (s)he adooorable? If you're serious about getting one of these, you should totally try it!**

But you can guess how this little fantasy ends: with nothing cradled in my arms except another fucking negative and another month's broken dreams.

If it weren't for the hot sharp tears constantly prickling behind my eyes, I'd almost believe that I'm getting used to this.

*Now amended to read, "always, except ha ha stupid tricked you."

**Of course I would. You know I'm a bitch.