Meh, false alarm

I haven't written in a while because my body was sending me weird signals, and I didn't want to speak too soon. My tits blew up like beach balls. Now, I'm not one to name body parts, I've always thought the practice was annoying, but I couldn't help but christen them Rock of Love Bus 1 & 2 (the link is in case you are reading from another country and don't have access to that particular slice of American culture). Because no matter how professionally I tried to dress, I still looked like a stripper. I might as well have had huge flashing arrows pointing right at my chest. And they HURT. Even though my period was well over a week away, I was like "hmmm...." and smells started to make me sick, and I got tired, and... I got a strong hunch that I was pregnant. I bought the test but refused to take it until my period was officially late. Well today it was officially early, naturally on a day when I wore a brand-new bright white skirt and my most delicate, lovely white lace underwear. No accidents, but still. Damn. I also had no protection on me so I had to do that awful 8th grade wadded-up toilet paper trick. (My apologies to any men who might be reading. You learn something new every day.)

Of course, I am focusing on the bright sides here: For the time being, my body still belongs to me. I can drink when I go visit my sister next month-- I can drink right now! I can still run. I just bought four pairs of shorts & skirts from Target that are ridiculously vanity sized (call me a sucker, it still strokes the ego). It's one more month that I get to feel good instead of feeling like crap. Sick, tired, bloated crap.

But.

I had been getting really excited about the prospect of a February baby. The timing with the school year would have been perfect-- I would have just been finishing up my sickest time when school started, and it would have been safe to tell everyone. The first few months after birth, when I was recovering and insane, I'd have been missing the very worst part of the school year (the stretch when there are no holidays for months and winter feels like it will last forever). I told Nick that I am disappointed but not devastated, the way you would be if you applied for a new job you wanted and didn't get it, but you still had your old job. Tonight I was watching Sascha jump on the bed, thinking about how hard we have tried to have another baby; how all last summer we paid extra close attention to my fertile days and still had no luck. I wonder if I'm actually infertile and she was just a one-time fluke. I would be okay with that if that's true. I guess I'd just like to know so that I can stop hoping and wondering and saving up my sick days like a squirrel collecting acorns for winter. I could get rid of the boxes of maternity and baby clothes in the basement. I could take days off to paint my toenails and watch daytime TV every once in a while.

But the idea that I was pregnant made me ridiculously happy.

So, it's onward and upward again in two weeks. Sigh... Sascha is in bed belting out "Hey Jude" at the top of her lungs. I'm going to go have a brownie and a biiiig glass of wine.