As of this evening, I'm 13 days late. And according to the stick I peed in this morning, theres no good reason for this tardiness.
I didn't have high hopes that this was THE cycle, but every day that went by without surfing the crimson wave, my hope creeped up. I let myself start to think about the excitement I'd feel if it was a positive test. I let myself mentally list off what I'd need to do, call the doctor, get blood wish done, etc. I let myself consider who I'd tell during the first few weeks.
I let myself hope.
Oh I tried to tell myself that I wasn't hopeful, that it wouldn't be a big deal if I wasn't.
Turns out I'm a liar.
Its strange how the same disappointment and hurt month after month seems to sting a little more each time. The sting in the eyes trying to hold back tears. The sting in my throat when I had to tell my husband it was negative. The sting in my heart as I threw another pee stick away.