I have a song stuck in my head that may or may not be an ACTUAL song… the chorus of this alleged song is: “The way-yay-ting is the har-dest part” and it sounds a little bit like early Billy Joel when it resounds through my head. Having early Billy Joel singing to me in MY OWN HEAD isn’t even as frustrating as NOT. KNOWING.

Another thing I think I’ve invented in my post-ovulation haze is a beverage called “Fertili-Tea.” Does it exist? I don’t know, but I know that it ISN’T available at my local health food store. (Tea Tree oil for the massive zit breakout is, as well as Ginger Peach tea and a fresh bumbleberry tart, mmmm.)

In all of this invented stuff, I have been reading various things on the internet relating to giraffe habitat. No, wait! That’s a lie. I’ve been reaidng about fertility/pregnancy/birth stuff. Goddamnit, you caught me.

One of the things that I keep seeing, that gives me pause is that in the past, women were encouraged to wait until they MISSED TWO (2!) PERIODS before checking in with their doctor to confirm their suspicions. HOLY SWEET LIFTIN’ FUCK. That’s like, 8 weeks. If you’re me, that’s more like NINE weeks, on account of my cycle. It is amazing what we know now.

However, I wonder if it was any easier for our foremothers. I mean, here I am, 7 dpo (or thereabouts) just DYING to know what is happening in the Uterus Hilton RIGHT NOW. Are they partying? Did they hook up? DId they see each other and he promised to call, but instead he withered up and died and now she’s all “Fuck you, S. Perm! Me and my posse of uterine lining are OUTTA HERE!”

Did women before me, though, before all of us, just not even think about it? Is it like the first 2 weeks of a cycle “I can’t worry about it, because I’m definitely not, so I don’t even need to think about it.” Or was it worse, was it scratched into journals as the dreaded “2MW?” Crazy.

Not as crazy as the fact that my left eye has been vibrating for 3 days now, though. That’s crazy. I hope it’s not an Optopic Pregnancy! Oh, wait. I invented that, too.