I wonder why I'm so tired?

Holy Mary it's cold outside! Eight degrees with a windchill of -30. (Okay, maybe not quite that low.) I'm sporting some sexy, sexy thermal underwear and starting to seriously regret sending away my winter boots to be repaired. But the sun is shining and, yep, that's about it.

Matt and I have recently switched sides of the bed for reasons too embarrassing to go into and it has totally thrown me for a loop. It's weird to sleep on the "wrong" side, even though I don't think it's technically possible for a bed to have a wrong side. My new side is closer to the door which also means closer to the litter box, which means that between the scratch-scratch-scratch litter box tango that plays out roughly twelve times per night and my non-stop march to the bathroom (damn you, tiny bladder!), not to mention my new obsession with my basal thermometer, I'm getting very little actual shut-eye. I'm supposed to take my temperature every morning after three hours of uninterrupted sleep which, c'mon, just isn't going to happen. I'm also supposed to take my temperature each day at the exact same time and move as little as possible so as not to raise my core body heat. Unfortunately reaching over to my side table requires muscle use, so now I just sleep with the thermometer under my pillow like a large, occasionally beeping tooth. Every time I wake up I feel compelled to check the clock to see if I've actually accumulated the required number of hours and then I spend the rest of the night in a state of nervous half-sleep, the kind of feeling you have when you have an early flight to catch and can't figure out how to set the alarm. All so I can take my temperature.

I think I'm going to have to let this part of the whole "trying to get pregnant" thing go. You know Britney didn't go through this bullshit.