I’m writing this on the 17th of May, a day before my period is scheduled to come and nineteen days after I ovulated (and made out appropriately.)
Which means for the past nineteen days I have interpreted any tiny fluctuation in my existence to mean I am either pregnant or not. For anyone who has ever longed to be pregnant you know exactly what I’m talking about. Suddenly everything you do with yourself from the day you ovulate could have bearing on the entire future health of your hypothetical fetus.
Feeling a little barfy? It’s because you’re pregnant, ignore the fact that you ate some seriously questionable chicken fingers chased by lukewarm fruit salad and a flat soda the night before. Commence eating nothing but Gatorade and Saltines.
Cookies and cream ice cream for dinner one night? You just ruined their chance at a Harvard education by dumbing them down with chunks of frozen chocolate cookie in your first trimester.
Forgot to take your pretatal Flinstone vitamin on Wednesday? Congratulations your pretend (or is it?) kid is now going to have a flipper.
Fell down the stairs?* Whoops, you just knocked the little imaginary embryo loose and you are completely out of luck, thanks for trying, come back again later when you’re a little more graceful.
I even convinced my husband to go out at almost midnight to procure me a Cherry Slushee because there’s a chance I could be pregnant and the violent vomiting could begin any! day! now! rendering the enjoyment of a Cherry Slushee null and void for the next nine months because they burn so bad on the way back up.**
Speaking of vomiting, with the way my last pregnancy turned out*** I seriously consider everything I put in my mouth, because it could be the first thing to come up. (Seriously, with the moosh? I felt fiiiine, then one day, I kinda had a tummy ache, I ate some Cheerios for breakfast at 8:31am MST and at 8:43 am MST on April 15, 2004 those suckers came rocketing back up in the last stall on the left at Beehive Clothing. Nothing stayed down for the next 35 weeks. The last thing I vomited up? Lime Slushee in the delivery room, I told that nurse I was scheduled to puke just after 10 am MST and to hurry up and give me the Zofran already, however she went with a ‘wait and see’ approach. Lime slushee puke? 10:08 am, Zofran administered? 10:12 am. THANKS NURSE.)
So here I sit in limbo. Wanting so badly to troll etsy for baby stuff that was never around when the moosh was a baby. Ignoring the overwhelming desire to enter every online contest for onesies and burp cloths and bedding sets. Putting off buying one of those “I’M A BIG SISTER” t-shirts for another month**** because frankly there is a possibility that the moosh may never be a big sister.
My time would be better spent vacuuming than dreaming up ways to tell my husband, my daughter, my family and all of you magnificent witty ways to announce my pregnancy.
But that’s just the thing, it’s so all encompassing, it changes everything. If I were pregnant it would mean that spare bedroom in a new house would be a baby’s room, not an office. People constantly offer the well meaning advice of “Just don’t worry about it and it will happen.” or “You think about it too much, just relax.” and then there’s my favorite, “I had this friend who gave up years ago and went out and adopted twins and a month later she found out that she was pregnant with triplets! Can you imagine!!!!1!!”
I have to remember when it comes to magnificent stories of conception they are all the exception. For every woman out there who miraculously becomes pregnant after a dozen years trying or after coming back from cancer or after going through a heart wrenching adoption, there are a dozen more of us out there who are the rule.
Those of us who pee on sticks every month to a single line or a blinking display of “NOT PREGNANT.” Those of us who will never become stories of “miraculous pregnancies.” Those of us destined to be ordinary infertile people that most of the pregnant world will feel awkward and uncomfortable around.
To those of you who are the exceptions? You’re welcome, because without people like me your stories would never be considered miracles.*****
*I actually haven’t fell down a flight of stairs for almost a year. Yay me!
***For those of you who are new here I basically barfed myself into emaciation while pregnant from a soul sucking condition known as Hyperemesis Gravidarum.
****Honestly? I’ve been putting off this purchase every month for the last three years.
*****And that? Just sounded a lot more snarky than I intended. Maybe that’s why infertiles make fertiles feel so awkward?