You know how I was being so good about taking my progesterone and I was celebrating not spotting? Right after I wrote that, I forgot to use the progesterone cream that night. No problem; I put it on the next morning (and then also used some the next night. So I got the same amount, and once was about nine hours late). But the day after I forgot it...I started spotting. (On p+8.) And have continued.
I tell myself that this was going to happen either way, and that while I probably delayed the spotting with the progesterone cream, I was never going to prevent it altogether. One late application wouldn't make that big of a difference. And if getting back up to speed hasn't made the spotting stop, then it was definitely coming either way.
Of course, the other side of this is that, since (thanks to the spotting) I start having symptoms of my next period as much as a week in advance, it shortens my available period of denial (AKA the 2ww). Or, alternatively, it just makes that denial much more severe. I.e., I know perfectly well what this means; but I come up with all sorts of secret theories about why this isn't inconsistent with a BFP this month, even though the same symptom didn't lead to pregnancy for the last several months. Infertility: a nuanced study in mental illness.
Also, even though he is no longer traveling internationally or for long periods of time, my DH is scheduled to miss my entire "fertile" phase in the upcoming cycle (the one that I was going to time perfectly after I figured things out with this cycle - this cycle that's already a bust, that is). I am pissed. I haven't told him yet. I probably have to find a way to do so with less hostility.
Finally, the spotting also means one other thing: I am PMSing. For me, this means an intensification of all my negative emotions, the suspension of my ability to be reasonable if I don't feel inclined to, and the amplification of any kind of emotionally immature fixations to the point that they drown out all other aspects of my personality.
It's November. It's almost Thanksgiving. In the last week or so, it finally got cold-ish. My yard is covered in leaves (no, I am not contemplating raking just now. Life is difficult enough). I have already made pie this fall (three apple pies, to be exact). I am wearing boots on a daily basis. Today is casual Friday, so I have wrapped myself in cozy layers of wool. I can make some defense that the outfit is stylish, but I'm basically wearing blankets and sitting in my office chair. All I need is some cocoa. (Actually, I really do need some cocoa. Note to self: carefully schedule afternoon...)
All of this adds up to one inevitable conclusion. I want a house, and I want one now. A big house - OK, not unnecessarily huge (though some of the things on the market now do fall into that category). I always think of the beautiful Chicago home (er, mansion) in the first Home Alone movie. That was a house. And a house at Christmas - as all houses should always be. I don't want one that large or that expensive (there's only two of us). But something with that sort of feel. So though there are no really promising options out there just now (well, none that haven't been vetoed by my husband), I am madly going over and over the rejected options to find one with potential.
There's a handsome house in my neighborhood that's in foreclosure, which my DH loves. It's priced above what we'd be willing to pay, and I know there are other offers on it, so getting it for the price we want might well be impossible. Two other problems: (1) I have never seen the inside. It could cost more to repair than we could afford. And, it was built in 1938. While it's got an older look, given my preference for Victorian-era architecture, I may just be unable to love it...I'll have to see. (2) It's right in my neighborhood. While this is a nice place to live, part of me really wants to move somewhere else - near to a parish with a real community, and, frankly, a little farther away from all our friends who have kids or are about to have them. I need a polite reason to put down roots in a new community and not spend all my time visiting them and their kids. I think a new town would give us a fresh start.
There's a really adorable house in the area I'd prefer. It's in a plenty nice neighborhood, it's adorable, it's in good shape, it's a really good price, it's got a lovely yard, it's commutable, and it's near a church that is acceptable. But it's so little...we've been thinking that since we're grown-ups some day we should have a queen bed. This house has three bedrooms, and none would fit a queen (they're all miniscule, and we can't combine two - there would only be two left!). Only one room even has a closet. The full bath also has a mini (not even standard-sized) tub, and no room to expand to fit a bigger one. We'd like a decent-sized bathtub. Is that so much to ask in a home we own? And it has no room for a dining room or a study. I keep trying to convince myself that it's perfect, but I just don't think it would work.
And...there's a giant (way, way more space than we need) gorgeous Victorian-style home as well. It costs too much (same as the one in our neighborhood, actually). And it would be a pretty inconvenient commute. Some of the decor is really weird and should be changed, but it's in good condition.
At another time, I would reject all of these options. But I cannot bring myself to let go right now. I must nurture whatever possibilities exist. I want to throw a (formal-dress) New Year's Eve party this year, and my rental house is not big enough to swing it, so I am at the mercy of others; others who are wonderful people, but will not understand that New Year's is a formal occasion. And I think we may be staying home for Christmas (and inviting some of the family to join us if they wish), and I could do wonders with a house with multiple bedrooms. And a dining room.
It's Christmas. I need my own house. More expensive than the tiny house would be fine. Less expensive than the other two is necessary (and smaller would be just fine). I don't mind if it has an insane kitchen and ludicrous decor and things falling off as long as, underneath, there are wood floors and real fireplaces and antique casements and working radiators and strange useless nooks and crannies. Why doesn't the real estate market understand this???