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Yesterday was beautiful.  While Bear napped, I sat in the sun in the backyard and read.  By the time she woke, the afternoon had warmed to the point where I could discard my jacket and even sleeves were no longer necessary.  Bear and I spent several hours outside enjoying the unseasonably warm weather.

Although Bear looks like me, she is her father’s daughter.  As far as I am concerned, the two of them have work confused with play.  Every weekend, my husband creates little projects for himself; ones that I would not find relaxing.  Likewise, yesterday Bear entertained herself by picking up sweet gum balls and collecting them in her wagon.  Unfortunately, she was not content to do this by herself, so I joined her in this unpleasant activity.

As I was marveling on prolific nature of our sweet gum trees, my doctor’s office called.  The nurse gingerly told me that my progesterone was “very low” at 0.6 and that she was sorry but that I had not ovulated.  She promised to call me on Monday with my doctor’s recommendations since my doctor is out-of-town on spring break.

After the call, I found myself thinking over the results as I picked up spiny ball after spiny ball.  The irony was not lost on me.  We have a backyard full of trees that generate millions of these unwanted balls in the name of procreation, and I struggle to generate one tiny, little egg on a semi-regular basis.

Aside from this, Bear and I did have a nice afternoon in the sunshine.  She piled rocks on the back of our ultra-complacent dog.  Then, she attempted to feed them to him.  Finally, she gave him sweet gum balls to munch.  After we had exhausted all of the fun that the backyard could offer, we moved to the driveway where Bear drove her little Cozy Coupe, and we wrote her name in many colors with chalk.

Today, the weather is its normal, fickle March self, but yesterday’s little taste of summer was enough to remind us that winter is nearly at an end.  And, I am ready.

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.


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