It's Day Two of NaBloPoMo. I'm already out of things to write about. My hands are clammy. My pulse is weak and rapid. My blood pressure is plummeting. I'm never going to make it.
Hey, this was my first month on Clomid. I know! You all didn't even know I was trying to get knocked up, did you? I am full of surprises. Anyway, apparently my lithe 32-year-old body was much more responsive to getting pregnant than my withered 38-year-old self, so here I am. There's not much to report about it. Nothing has happened to me, except for hot flashes. These don't make me feel particularly young, but they do keep me toasty, which is nice. I could use one right now, in fact.
Hmm dee doo, what else. Oh! Here's my Wonderland post for this week. It will terrify and enlighten. It took me about five minutes to figure out why "teriffy" looked wrong. My brain is atrophying right along with my girl parts. Age is a cruel, cruel thing.