Weeks and months of my life are now divided into chunks of roughly 13 days. The first chunk is that of freedom and carelessness. I can eat yummy French soft cheeses, pâté, raw meat (not that I want to!) and raw fish, and I can drink my usual weekly half-mouthful of white wine (I told you, I don’t drink! I’m not French [or English, for that matter] like that!)
Then the second chunk, I become saintly, extra careful, a new person, ‘just in case’... I stop all soft-cheese consumption, I don’t even have my half-mouthful of wine, I walk and bend carefully, I certainly don’t run and... I wait patiently, for the next big chunk of my life – the one that lasts a lifetime... Babies aren’t just for Christmas or for 13 days – they’re for ever...
What remains practically constant during the 26 or so days is all the symptoms I get – you’d think I was pregnant all that time! Nausea (a biggy!), pains in my tummy (ranging from sharp, short ones, to diffuse, long ones), very very very sore boobs (can’t lie on my front at night at the moment, and groan every time I turn around) and increased saliva production at times (like two days ago).
But yesterday afternoon, I had confirmation from my body that ah ah ah, it had tricked me again, yes yes yes, here’s some blood to prove it. And making this the shortest cycle ever for me: 24 days.
What is my body up to?
Oh well, at least I can go on my holiday without a care in the world! We're going to Limoges, Montpellier, the Cévennes and then to my parents' (southeast of Paris), and I will be able to eat all I want! Yippee!