I have a lot of things to tell you, internets, about our week in the north woods and the wonders of unisom for nausea and so on, but it is late and I am tired.
And spotting. I’m also spotting.
And I know, it’s pale pink and almost nothing and I scraped myself a little with the crinone applicator this morning and I maybe shouldn’t have carried a backpack while climbing that (very small) mountain yesterday and that this is exactly (to the day; I just checked) when I started a month of spotting with the Bean and all that. And I really am going to try to sleep, despite the fact that just thinking about my uterus always makes me feel like maybe it’s cramping.
But this is not what I want to be lying awake thinking about at my in-laws’ house, hundreds of miles from my bed and my cats and my doctors (who I know couldn’t do a thing even if I were there, but still).