I have no words for this . . . well, maybe two:

I've had an interesting weekend.

It started on Friday, with my last day at my crap call center job. A chapter closed. I wanted to celebrate by waiting in line at WalMart with my friends to buy Eclipse on DVD at midnight, but I have this awful cold which kept me on the couch instead.

Saturday, I woke up feeling worse. Mr. Joe made me scrambled eggs and cheese in bed, which were marvelous, and I decided that in my gross coughy state, we should not attend our friends' annual Christmas party that night. My celebratory weekend was not turning out the way I had planned at all. Mr. Joe decided around noon that he would take a nap. I wanted to drug myself with Nyquil, but we were fresh out, so out I went to Walgreens.

As I was searching the aisles for my drug of choice, I passed by THE AISLE. You know the one. It occurred to me then that I was late - if I was a normal person. I haven't really been paying attention on our break so I wasn't convinced this meant anything, but I can't resist peeing on things, so on a whim, I bought a FRER. Then I peed on it. Well, first I went home, THEN I peed on it. Then I almost threw up.

At first glance, it looked like a faint positive. Then I realized that the dark line was the test line. It sucked all the ink out of the control line.

Holy shit.

Part of me was fighting this, because it would appear to the outside world that once I just relaxed I ended up pregnant. If you know anything about me, know this: I HATE TO BE TOLD I TOLD YOU SO. Which is precisely what my turd husband said. I would have punched him in the face, but I'm with child, and I thought that would be a bad idea.

Another part of me is extremely cautious. I must only be 10 minutes preggo at this point. We have only told 3 people, and you guys of course. If anything were to go wrong, those are the people I would cry about it to, so it only made sense to say something now.

Still ANOTHER part of me is sad for those of you who haven't made it here yet. I know how it feels to read another BFP post and have the inner war with my emotions. I am still praying every night for you. So far, God has been answering my prayers. It's taken me a little while to trust Him, but He seems to know what He is doing. I understand if you stop reading. I promise not to take it personally. I won't stop reading and praying for you though.

I feel like I am dreaming. I can't believe that tomorrow, I will be training for a job where I won't be talking to angry people who hate me all day long. I can't believe that I will be learning about how to manage some one's case and be growing a human being at the same time. I can't believe that I might be getting everything I've ever wanted.

Holy shit.

Crossing everything over here . . .

because if it doesn't happen this cycle, this is really going to hurt.

For some reason this time around, clomid has been a pain in my ass. Or more accurately, a pain in my abdomen. I feel like my ovaries are ginormous rocks taking over my lower half. There doesn't seem to be enough room to accompany all of my organs anymore. And the hot flashes - last time I wasn't sure if I was having them or if it was just really hot. This time around, there's no second guessing if it's a flash or not. I start sweating like a hooker in church, which is awkward because they have me training with a nice guy this week and I am constantly taking layers off. Then, after about 20 minutes of burning alive, I start to freeze and put all of my layers back on. After 20 minutes of that, I have to get up because I'm barfy. I go through this cycle of hot, cold, barf, about a million times throughout the day, so I'm sure my trainer thinks I'm crazy.

All of that is a constant reminder of why I'm "suffering" (not really suffering, but it's pretty annoying) and has me at a new level of make believe. About 24 hours of my day are spent daydreaming about how I will tell Mr. Joe he's going to be a father, how we will tell other people, what colors we'll use in the nursery, names, middle names, announcements . . . on and on. The logical side of me knows this is dangerous, but the clomid-ridden hormonal side of me can't stop. It doesn't help that Mr. Joe seems to have BOTB too, even though he has no idea what he's talking about. Yesterday, he asked me if I was "on my cycle yet". I'm still not sure what he was asking about. The other day, he referred to my period as "my thingy" LOL. At this point, I just tell him what nights to show up. Today is CD10, which means Tuesday is O-day, so it will be a very busy weekend :-)

God I hope this works.

Stop the presses.

Look!

That link is my chart on Fertility Frenemy. Note the crosshairs. Does this mean I actually ovulated? I am still a little shocked. I was all prepared to write a post about how I went out with my sister in law to a Mexican restaurant and ordered a "Wet Burrito" (trust me it looked good on paper). I guess I am still posting about it right now. Here's a picture of my beefy, wet burrito (I wonder what google searches will turn up from this post):

And Just to get a true feel for the sheer volume of beefy, wet burritoness, here is one with my SIL:

I apologize if it's tiny. I am not a profesh blogger by any means. Despite the strange name, the burrito was delicious. I'm still a little concerned about where the "wet" part comes in though. The rest of it is sitting in my locker at work for lunch. There was no way I could finish all of that thing in one sitting! We needed to leave room for desert:

Please remind me, when I piss and moan on Monday about how I gained 10 pounds, that I ate FRIED ICE CREAM that was on FIRE on Thursday. Thank you.

And since I am all about the pictures today, here is a look at the "national holiday" that is March Madness in the Joe residence:

My house smells like college dorm today because Mr. Joe and is band of goons wanted to play upstairs in my nice house instead of downstairs in the man cave yesterday. There was a problem though, because the biggest of our two televisions is in the man cave (downstairs). What to do? Mr. Joe decided that he would put our very large, expensive piece of electric entertainment OUTSIDE ON OUR PATIO TABLE. There are few things in this world that we own that are of any worth, friends. One of the those things is this TV. Another is our reputation as normal, middle class citizens. I'm pretty sure the latter is damaged beyond repair in our neighborhood now. Sigh. The umbrella really accentuates the trashiness, don't you think?

Anyway . . . I ovulated. Sadly, I can't remember what exact day Mr. Joe and I got it on. We are very busy people, but I'm fairly certain it was this past weekend. So there's a goodish chance we had some sort of timing right? Maybe the cramping in my uterus is a baby Joe.

Or I will actually discover why they call it a "wet" burrito. Pray for me on both accounts, please.

Happy Friday!!

Mrs. Joe's List of Irrational Surgery Fears:

1) I will die. Not because of the tiny incision in my stomach, mind you. I'm sure that I will for some reason, just drop dead at 27 years old right on the table.

2) I will wake up in the middle of the surgery and be completely paralyzed. I will hear and feel everything, yet not be able to tell anyone about it. To make matters worse, Dr. Foreign Accent will be commenting on how flabby I am.

3) They will accidentally amputate one of my arms or legs. I'm hoping if this is the case, that it's my left one. Or if they're going to amputate something, that they take my second toes, because they make my feet ugly:

4) They will discover the REAL reason I'm infertile: I have testicles and I'm actually a man. Mr. Joe will be SO PISSED.

Did I mention that I'm having this done at a teaching hospital??? EEEEEk!

I know I am not the only one to have this done, but I am so paranoid that I CANNOT STOP driving Mr. Joe crazy with worry. I thought if I wrote out my fears it would make me feel better, but I keep coming up with newer ones. I'm going to stop while I'm ahead :-)