January 30, 2013 by bestdayevar
Today is 11 months to the day that we’ve been trying to make a baby. If you read my last post, you know how hopeful I was that this cycle was going to finally be the one where I saw a positive pregnancy test.
There were all of those “signs.” And then, up until today, my basal body temperature chart was THE BEST I’d ever had — my temperature climbing higher and higher. I thought for sure it was going to just keep going up. I imagined what my reaction would be when I took a pregnancy test and it turned up positive (I would scream, probably super high-pitched, and either fly around the house or fling myself on my husband or the cats or all of the above).
And last night, as I laid in bed waiting to fall asleep, I noticed a tightness in the general vicinity of my uterus. It was subtle, not painful, just a slight sensation that I probably would never have noticed at any other time of the month. I put my hand on my belly, and I knew it. I knew this is what other girls felt when they said they “just felt pregnant.” I felt pregnant! My chart said so, the ladybugs said so, the pregnancy psychic said so, and now my uterus was telling me so.
But when I woke up this morning, my temperature had plummeted. So much so that I decided it wasn’t going to be worth it to even take a pregnancy test, because I could see where this was going — straight to periodsville.
Then, I saw a picture someone posted on Facebook of two ladybugs in the palm of their hand. And how lucky they must be because of all the ladybugs in their house. And then a bunch of people commented on that post because THEIR house was full of ladybugs, TOO! And OMG Austin is having a ladybug infestation! So, it turns out those whore ladybugs are cheating on me and I can’t trust them at all.
Right after all that, I had to take an early morning constitutional, and you know what I noticed after that? No more “pregnant feeling.” Nope, last night I had been having tender thoughts toward the contents of my lower bowels and not, in fact, the (non-existent) contents of my uterus, as I had originally thought.
Don’t I feel silly.
I’m trying not to, but I also feel sad. At this point, 11 months to the day, I’m starting straight at one full year of trying to make a baby. (Not counting the entire year before that when I wanted to be trying, but my husband wasn’t ready.) So it seems that I’m now moving on to a milestone that I never wanted to reach — a year of trying, and 2 years of waiting.
I’m sure I’ll decide I am in fact pregnant 2 more times before my period actually shows up. Because that’s how this whole thing works. I’d call it a roller coaster, but that implies too much fun. It’s more like an intercontinental flight in hurricane season with a drunk pilot… generally turbulent, patches of calm, some bargaining with god, a few tiny bottles of liquor, and the pervasive hope that we’ll arrive safely on the other side… eventually.