It was Saturday morning. March 3, 6:30 in the morning.
I think I was up early mostly because I had promised myself that I could take a test. After 6 months of trying, I don’t even remember how many pregnancy tests I have gone through. Particularly in the first couple of months when I was still figuring out my rhythm, I’d run to the drugstore if I even thought I was 5 minutes late. (Just a little bit impatient here maybe?) So this time, I was determined to not test before I was fairly confident that I was actually ‘late’ and there was even a maybe tiny hope of a positive result.
It’s been a ‘long’ 6 months. For me, anyway. (I certainly don’t envy couples who have to try for a year or longer … I’m not sure how well I, or Paddy through having to deal with me, would have managed!) It seems a particularly cruel trick of biology that the moody-crazy monthly hormone rollercoaster kicks in just when you get the message that you are still not pregnant. Needless to say, I really need to work on my chill and relaxed ‘let it be’ attitude.
In an attempt to maintain my sanity, I decided that February was going to be my “month off”. Since we got married, we have been ‘trying’. I can’t speak for Paddy, but it’s definitely something that’s been on my mind fairly consistently: I’ve got everything tracked in my calendar, and have been studying Chapter 1 of the ‘What to Expect’ book for advice and tips on when and how and what to do and eat and watch out for in the pre-conception phase. Ya. I went a little overboard. Having kids has been a big dream of mine ever since I was little (just ask Mom how long I kept playing with dolls!) and boy, was I determined to make it happen. But that determination sure required a lot of effort, and by February, I needed to to take a break. Stop thinking about it all the time. Stop planning and calculating. Stop hoping and wishing and getting worked up over the tiniest thing. Just let it be.
I was actually doing pretty good at the whole chill attitude thing … until I misread the calendar. I saw 4 weeks where only 3 existed and kinda freaked out: was I late? Was this it? All thoughts of calm went out the window and my hopes flew up. Being as patient as I dared, I waited a couple more days before breaking into the test … and got a negative result. That really sucked. Blew my mood completely. When I finally calmed down and got over the frustration – and realized my mistake … oops! – I really didn’t have the energy to hope again the next week, when I was actually late.
Ok, there was at least a little hope…
But I really wasn’t prepared for that plus sign. Not even a little bit.
(And I’m still not! Not even a little bit.)