The curse of the TWW…

I’m around 5dpo (maybe 4 depending on different apps’ coverlines) and there is absolutely no question that I am in the TWW because my boobs are frigging hurting – and don’t I know it!

Shoulder boulders, jugs, melons, the girls, hooters, baps, mammaries, Bristols, tits, funbags, breasts… whatever they are called they are a DAVE FREE ZONE right now.

If Dave is ever unsure of whether I have ovulated or not, he soon finds out as I swat his hand away if he even attempts to approach me. I’m like a ninja. He’ll innocently walk up to me for a cuddle and my arms will shoot up, I’ll shout ‘HALT!’, jump backwards and protect my tits from invasion.

The worst is when he catches me unawares and I’m thrust into his chest for a bear hug and my boobs are SCREAMING in pain. 

When he does that I knee him in the balls just to balance out the pain ratio.

This is another one of those symptoms of my cycle that being on the pill masked for 10 years. Growing up as a teen, I don’t really remember my boobs hurting too much but whenever they did I always put it down to how HUGE they grew in such a short space of time. I was a DD by year 10 (15 years old) and at 30 I am a GG. So all the shooting pains I felt I put down to growing pains rather than linking it to my cycle. They don’t teach you things like that in Biology at school when you learn about the menstrual cycle.

So over the past year of TTC I am very in tune with my body and it’s various tell tale signs. As I mentioned in a previous post, I know when I’m about to ovulate because I am a bitch on heat, and I know I’ve DEFINITELY ovulated when I wake up afterwards with boulders on my rack.

They tend to hurt more as the day wears on and if I’ve been on my feet and moving around all day, so today (Saturday) I’m completely chilling out on the sofa and therefore my girls haven’t been jiggling about like jellies on a plate. But yesterday at work… Oh. My. God.

I was wincing often, and sucked in my breath on a few occasions when the shooting pains took my breath away. I get various pains and twinges depending on what I’m doing. Reaching up or stretching = shooting and stabbing pains. Bending over = throbbing. Arms together or carrying things = twinges. But even just standing around would give me heavy dull aches. Basically I spend the entire time being very much aware of my boobs and I hate it.

But not as much as when I get home and take my bra off at the end of a long day. That is a whole definition of hell right there.

I brace myself. I reach around and grab the clasp. I hold my breath. I count to 3. I slowly unhook the back and let my boobs gently be released. I swear it feels like lowering a bomb so gingerly that it doesn’t explode. Any sudden movements are not survivable.

Then I spend the evening avoiding Dave and his grubby molesting paws.

I’ve had one month that I can recall that my boobs DIDN’T hurt after ovulation and it was bliss. I thought that because it was so unusual for me, I must be pregnant. But no.

What worries about this level of pain when I’m NOT pregnant, is how bad they will get when I AM. I am already concerned that the size of them will grow to that of actual boulders. Dave won’t be able to cope if they double in size and he’s not allowed to honk them.

It might be time to invest in a rubber doll for him or something…

3 thoughts on “The curse of the TWW…

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