Downhearted

What are the odds that both parties to a lesbian partnership would have almost unreadable ovulation charts? Perhaps they're high. Perhaps not many women at all have proper, easy-to-decipher temperature charts. Perhaps it's all a conspiracy to punish women for seeking to control their fertility in the first place --- hey, you, lady. Just have unprotected sex with one man forever and welcome the children or barrenness whichever comes and keep it down while you're doing it, okay?

I'm not nearly as bitter as I sound. I promise.

It's all going to come good in the end, I know that. According to (no exceptions) every last person I talk to about it, 'it'll happen'. Yes, I know. Thanks. Got it. Not happening now, though, is it? Which is the point. Which is the centre of how I'm feeling and why.

And, really, this is the third month for me. It only feels as though I've been inseminating and reading opaque fucking charts for two years. That first part? That was actually Jam. Oy vey.

Soon it will be spring and then summer. My favourite part of the year. It's sure to bring something else new-lifey with it, and let's hope that thing is a tiny, extremely healthy person, fiercely implanted in an appropriate section of my uterus.

(And that's why they call me an optimist.)