I am so hot. Not like, “I’m gorgeous”, but like “Who turned up the heat, it’s 900 degrees in here.”
I cannot recall ever having been this warm before. I’m sure it’s happened, like when it’s 90 degrees outside or something, but for real, it’s cool out and I’m sweating in short sleeves and capri’s. Normally, I’m the person running a space heater in August.
If this isn’t a sign of successful implantation, I don’t know what is. (In all realness, my temps are running about .3-.4 degrees higher than normal for this time of the month.) I guess we just have to wait for the beta on Monday to find out. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to be peeing on sticks before then, but I don’t think I’ll be able to trust it until Dr. Wonderful says “You are no longer PUPO, just pregnant, start the heparin injections.” That’s when it will be real, FertilityFriend be damned.
Speaking of my whore of a best friend, FertilityFriend, the “are you knocked up predictor” is up to a whopping 93%. Apparently constipation is a good thing. I’m going to have to respectfully disagree. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll gladly be constipated for a year if it means a baby, but I’m not going to call it a good thing.
Now that I’ve openly had hope for not one but three days in a row the universe will punish me swiftly and severely, I’m sure, so feel free to point and laugh when this happens. I’m sure the other shoe is preparing to drop any minute.