As usual, waiting
Part of that is simply from, as I've gotten older, taking a lot better care of myself than I did in my twenties--eating better, exercising, doing things like yoga that have helped me tune into the subtle shifts in energy and strength and flexibility that happen every day.
But of course, as any reproductively challenged woman knows, most of it comes from the demands of IF itself, the constant monitoring, the obsessive poking and prodding and measuring that we all do to try to maximize our chances of getting and staying pregnant. For me, it started the moment I went off the pill. I always knew getting pregnant might prove tricky for me, so I began monitoring BBTs and cervical mucus immediately.
Now, almost two years later, I've gone from a girl who got squicked out at the thought of inserting an applicator-less OB tampon (what if I got blood on my finger?!?) to someone who has played with and examined nearly every fluid that has exited my body--and gone spelunking for fluids that are too stubborn to make the trip. I know the tender feeling of my cervix just before ovulation. I know that the week after my period, my skin will resemble a porcelain doll's, and that two days after I ovulate, it will erupt in an angry, molten, chin-to-forehead mess. I know that two days before my period, eleven days after ovulating, I'll feel sluggish, my boobs will hurt, I'll feel bloated, and I'll start spotting. I know that one hour before the flow starts, I'll start cramping.
Based on all other clues (except BBT, which I dispensed with this cycle), I'm virtually certain I ovulated two weeks ago today. And yet, the one time I am eager for my period to arrive--I'm anxious to get this injectibles cycle started--there is nary a spot in sight. I am definitely not pregnant--let's just say there was no chance for sperm to meet egg--so what the hell is up? Sigh. Maybe some contorting in yoga class tonight will wring it out of me.