(This post includes some TMI kinda stuff. Some people might think it’s weird to share this stuff on the Internet, but whatever. It’s Life. I’m totally comfortable with sharing it. But boys- or MY DAD- if you’re freaked out when girls talk about Girl Things, feel free to skip this one. Or you know- grow a pair and read on! ha)
We have two kids, and the second was only recently added to the collection. So of course, we are asked a lot these days if we’re done having kids or if we’re going to ‘try for a third’ (or ‘try for a boy’. PEOPLE. DON’T ASK GENDER-SPECIFIC BABY QUESTIONS LIKE THAT. It’s annoying.) The answer I give lately is a very obnoxious and sleep-deprivation-induced HELLLLL NO, We are not trying for a third. Come here while I karate chop your face for suggesting it.
But honestly, the official answer is: We just don’t know yet. We’re keeping our options open. (Though I’m leaning pretttttty far over to the ‘We’re Done’ side. Dan is constantly trying to pull me back over. I wish him luck. ha)
So. That being said.
I was four days late with my period this week.
(Spoiler alert: I’M NOT PREGNANT!)
I was due to start on Monday. I am LIKE A CLOCK. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been more than a day or two late with my period in my life. Two of those times? KNOCKED UP. The other times? Blind panic and general freaking out. And peeing on many, many sticks.
Tuesday came and went, no sign of anything happening. I wasn’t concerned yet because really, my body is just starting to get back to ‘normal’ with this stuff, having had a baby in September and breastfeeding until last month. So I didn’t think much of it at all.
Wednesday came. Still nothing. I ate lunch and dinner and felt nauseous after both of them. A little heartburn-y. Huh. Weird. Last time I had heartburn like this I was preg-
HOLY CRAP ON A STICK.
Cut to me, frantically looking at my calendar, trying to remember what day it was that Dan and I actually were coherent enough after the girls were settled in bed to even notice that the other one was in the house, let alone… well, YOU KNOW, winkwinknudgenudge. I counted backwards to my last period to see if it was anywhere close to being the right timing for any surprise baby making and…
HOLY CRAP ON A STICK.
Here is where any woman who has ever been a few days late with her period will start nodding her head. Did you know that if you Google ‘pregnancy symptoms’, they are all EXACTLY THE SAME as PMS? The only difference between them is a positive pregnancy test. (And yes, even when you’ve been pregnant twice, you still may feel the need to consult Google for a list of symptoms. Hey, you NEVER KNOW. Maybe scientists discovered a Magic Symptom since the last time!) There is really no way to know for sure and it’s pretty much worthless to sit there and panic about the possibility of being pregnant until you actually pee on a damn test.
But of course that’s exactly what I did for two entire days.
Now please understand, if I WERE to get pregnant right now, we obviously would be happy (eventually… after I stopped sobbing about getting fat again) and love the baby and it would all work out. It would BE FINE. But try telling that to a woman who hasn’t been getting much sleep lately because her six month old baby likes to wake up a gazillion times a night. And try telling that to a woman who JUST LAST WEEK finally started wearing pants with a zipper and a button again. And try telling that a woman who ISN’T hormonal with PMS/possible pregnancy symptoms.
And of course, then I felt GUILTY for being so insanely panicked and scared. We are so blessed with Extreme Fertility already, who was I to be upset about an unplanned baby? So many people have difficulties! We should be happy! Except: Six Month Old Baby Who Doesn’t Sleep and Has Reflux. No More Babies, Please. (At Least For A While.)
I tried to be patient. I went about my days as usual. I sent a couple of frantic direct messages to a friend on Twitter in the hopes that it would make my period start (because that’s rational, right?) The whole time, in the back of my head, my brain was going at light speed, picking out minivans for our THREE CHILDREN and reconfiguring our bedroom arrangement and trying not to think about how TIIIIIIRRRRED I was going to be for the next 3 years.
And thinking about how I was going to kick Dan in the testicles REALLY REALLY HARD for making all those jokes about “Everybody needs an ‘OOPS!’ baby!”
I also wallowed in the irony of the new pack of birth control pills I was scheduled to start taking the Sunday after my next period. BWAHAHAHAHAHAH oh Alanis would LOVE THAT ONE FOR HER LITTLE SONG.
This morning, there was still nothing happening. After my shower, I held my last pregnancy test in my trembling hand, peed on it (the stick, not my hand! I Got Skillz.), waited the instructed three minutes and…
HUUUUUUUGE SIGH OF RELIEF. Told Dan (who was just getting out of bed and had NO IDEA that ANY OF THIS was happening, because I like my mental breakdowns kept to myself where I can enjoy them more fully, thankyouverymuch) that he narrowly missed being bludgeoned to death by a pregnancy test.
Two hours later? My period started.