I am sitting here waiting for my doctor’s office to call with the results of my progesterone test.  I know what the results will be – I didn’t ovulate – but just the same, I want to hear it from them, and I want to know what the next step will be.

I had my blood drawn on Monday, and I waited fairly patiently for several days.  This morning, I called and left a message requesting the results, but still no one has called me back.  It seems that trying to conceive is a big lesson in patience on so many levels.

Last week, Bear and I had lunch with two kids from her music class and their moms.  I’ve know that one mom was pregnant again for several months.  The other announced her pregnancy that day.  She said that they had been trying for awhile and explained that they had ovulation problems but that she gave up trying and it happened.  I don’t know her well, but I shared a little of my story.  When I had finished, she looked at me, turned toward the other, clearly pregnant mom, and continued talking about her pregnancy and how happy she was to be pregnant.

I wanted to stand up and say – what is your problem? – but instead, I retreated and focused on cutting Bear’s food. 

Music class is becoming a big bummer for me.  Bear loves it, so we’ll continue going, but five out of the eight adults in this class are pregnant.  This excludes a grandmother, another mom with a health condition, and me.  The pregnancy-related chatter is starting to depress me a little by the end of each class, and in reality, we haven’t even been trying again for that long.

Even in the best of circumstances, no one has control over conception, but I hate being dependent on someone else to help me.  If I would ovulate, at least I could hang on to a glimmer of hope that pregnancy will happen on its own.  Instead, I am stuck once again in this holding pattern that my body likes to hang out in called annovulation.