I'm not talking about psychohist taking the time last night to show mjperson the needle for the progesterone in oil, though I'm sure that was amusing. Its more about the psychological warfare that I perpetrate on myself during the two week wait. If only the CIA could find some way to hire just my subconcious the would have no problem getting those 'enemy combatants' to crack.

I am feeling very crampy this morning. At eight days post retrieval this screams implantation to me. In fact, it does more than scream, its taken out a full page add and is doing a half hour infomercial. On the other hand I have felt this cramping before and I've never had even the ghost of a second line to show for it, so its probably just my body messing with my mind again. The thing is, I really want to fall for it because I want it so badly. Sigh.

In other news, my biological warfare on the southern end of my GI track has yielded some results and I am feeling much better in that reguards. I expect continued sporadic fighting on that front, but on the whole the situation is improving.

One thing that none of the other infertility blogs that I spend too much time reading has mentioned is that progesterone in oil smells. It smells a bit like rancid olive oil. The sharps container has aquired this odor, and so has a certain part of my anatomy. At least I know the stuff is getting to where its needed.

I am still rooting very, very hard for my embryos. On the other hand, I am asking myself morbid questions too, like 'have I managed to kill them yet?' I sure hope not. Stay strong little embryos. I know you have been taken from your nice clean dish and relocated to the war zone that is my uterus, but if you survive I will buy you toys. Lots and lots of toys. Very expensive toys. Please hang in there.