and that's when I died

Daniel went to the chiropractor for the first time ever the other day and that went well, and I totally DIDN'T include the Sarcasmo Tone when I said that. He held my hand and lay on the table his little body was cracked and stretched and when he got off the table he was, like, TEN FEET TALL, which is a slight exaggeration, but he DID get off the table looking a little spaced out.

We paid our bill and spent some time shooting the breeze with the receptionist, all like we usually do, nothing out of the ordinary going on here, but when we were leaving the (VERY crowded) waiting room, he got a little antsy. Probably just being post-adjustment weird or maybe he's just three or something, and he didn't want to leave. So I reached for his hand and said something non threatening and true like "Let's go, chuff. You want to go meet Mallory and Jane at MacDonald's, don't you?" and Daniel recoiled in horror and yelled "MUMMY, NO! NO!! PLEASE DON'T BREAK MY OTHER ARM!!".

snacktime with flourish

eta: for the CAT, people. I don't always often ever let my kid eat off the floor. Geesh.

wish

if I could reach it, I'd totally kick my uterus's ass

Not pregnant.

Thing is, I've been keeping notes for the last five months of Cycle Observation. The unit thinks I'm a whackjob, but I when I call for my results, I ask for the numbers, not just vague shit like "you're heading toward a surge", or "yes you ovulated last week". I want the detaily details and I can write them down on the corresponding page in my diary because somewhere in my head, they make sense.

I did one of those online intelligence tests once upon a time, on that assessed the TYPE of intelligence you have as well as your IQ, and according to that, my brain does some kind of sequence recognition shit, in that I can predict patterns and create patterns and recognise patterns and patterns patterns patterns bla bla BLA, and it was a RELIEF to read a generic explanation of an actual recognisable and KNOWN manner of thought, because it exactly described ME, and if it was on the internet, it had to be RIGHT, and also, maybe I wasn't such a freak after all because hey, there were 0.2 per cent of OTHER freaks in the whole population of earth that think the same way so I'm not alone, but they probably all hide in laboratories and think up mathematical equations and stuff, which I do not, and the people I DO mix with ie the 99.8% of the population who DON'T think like that, always tell me to not think so much ie to NOT BE ME because I'd be SO MUCH HAPPIER if I wasn't ME and I probably would be if I could perform miracles like self lobotomies but I CAN'T so fuck off.

ANYWAY

What that means to YOU, sportsfans, is that when I say stuff, you can pretty much assume it's not going to be random.

I get my period within fourteen days of my LH surge, not usually, not maybe. ALWAYS, and while five months tracking LH surges might not be a 100% reliable predictor of future unterine bahaviour, it's a pretty good one.

So when I come out and say things like "Pregnant?!", it's NOT just wishful thinking. It's because holy fuck, y'all, I MIGHT BE pregnant.

Even the unit told me "Monday at the latest, this is looking good" when I called Tuesday to ask when I was due because I figured I must have stuffed up the dates somehow.

And then I got my period yesterday, a full seventeen days after it was due, because my body hates me and wants me to be miserable.

And because the Universe likes a good joke, I was also on the phone with my mother at the time which made the whole experience a BILLION times more enjoyable.

Every other month, I've had a period. This month, I've lost a dream.

And that hurts.

In other news,

Underpants Awareness Week has officially commenced.

My period is anywhere from two to five days late which, what else could it be besides menopause? Which it CAN'T be because blood tests CONFIRMED I ovulated, and LH levels taken at the time suggest it all happened anywhere from sixteen to nineteen days ago.

Oh. My god.

clavicular damage

Daniel was knocked to the ground yesterday when he was run over by or ran into the path of a tricycle at daycare, proving that he is indeed a male of the species, and that he does in fact have the requisite tunnel vision that proves his testicles aren't just for show ie he really IS a male of the species.

So I ditched work and took him to the doctor at around 4.30 yesterday, and he poked and prodded and reckoned that, at most, his whatsamacallit on the end of his shoulder bit might be a little bruised. My brain was all BUT WHERE'S THE BRUISE? so the doctor gave me a request form to shut my brain up, but told it to wait until morning to do anything rash like having my son's pain adequately assessed. Which was his super nifty clever trick to shut me up because the kid would be FINE by then, the end.

But he wasn't, so I a) cursed the doctor, b) kicked myself for LISTENING to that bozo, c) took deebs off for an x ray anon, and shortly thereafter, said hello to Baby's First Fracture, and d) repeated points a) and b) prn.

Daniel's doing really well though. If you ask him, he'll say that yes, it hurts, but only if you ask him, and you'd never know unless you did, so I've been keeping up the six hourly iboprofen to help him with that. He looks all pathetic with his collar and cuff sling on, which would drive me NUTS, but he's even coping with THAT really well too. I had thought we'd need to swap the sling for duct tape if we wanted to keep his arm immobilised for the next four to six weeks, but he's a smart kid. He worked out pretty quick smart that his shoulder hurts less with his wrist held up, so hasn't fought it and listens when you remind him to leave it on mate, it feels better if you do.

And he does.

my little (fractured) champion

this one

::::

Aside.

Last month, my LH surge came fourteen days before my period did.

This month, my LH surge was sixteen days ago and so far, no period.

(Ta Da with Flourish goes here)