Insidious hope.

CD1 should have been yesterday. Or today, at the absolute latest. Yet there's no sign of it anywhere.

On the downside, every HPT I put my hands on (ok, every HPT I put my urine on) is negative. Even this morning, 15 dpo, before I had the chance to dilute my pee with the customary morning glass of passionfruit juice.

Mr. December doesn't get why this is pissing me off so much. I tried to explain that obviously I'm not pregnant, so the delayed onset of my period can only drive me crazy. I am! No, I'm not! Wait, I am! No, I'm not! It's enough to drive a normally sane girl around the bend.

So far, to hasten the arrival of a new cycle, I've done the following:

1. Slept naked on clean, brand-new, white sheets that should never under any circumstances come in contact with bleach.
2. Taken numerous HPT's.
3. Ensured that my cupboards are absolutely empty of pads and tampons.
4. Filled my femara prescription.

Have I missed anything? A job interview, to which I wear tight white pants with no underwear?

And now I find myself running through my mental list of women who didn't get their BFP until 17 dpo. Like I need more insidious hope. Gah.

I'll check in again tomorrow and let you know how the wait is going.