People. I'm not pregnant. Please don't take this the wrong way, but oh, my god, please. Please stop leaving comments -- even jokingly -- on entries telling me I'm pregnant because I'm cranky or emotional or you know, have the stomach flu. I know when to pee on a stick and I know when there is no point to peeing on a stick because I just had my period six damn days ago and when you guys leave comments saying OMG YOU'RE PREGNANT I feel the need to disclose the fact that I just had my period six damn days ago. And thus I further alienate my three male readers and how the hell am I expected to land that lucrative Girls Gone Wild ad campaign with no male readers a lot of goddamned period talk?
I know none of you mean any harm with those comments, but they make me sad. (It's not you, it's me, if I may continue piling on the Seinfeld references.)
I guess I'm not so very at peace with our little plan after all, since hey! We came up with that plan a WHOLE MONTH ago and DAMMIT, I am not pregnant yet! Fuck you, plan!
Today, in the span of about three hours, I found out that two of my friends are pregnant again. They both have babies a month or two younger than Noah. I am ridiculously happy for both of them. (I actually knew my one friend was pregnant before she did -- her boobs have been looking spectacular -- but today my hunch was officially confirmed.)
I am also achingly jealous. And kind of surprised at that. I remember this feeling from before Noah...how I would close my office door after every pregnancy announcement at work so I could grant myself a quiet sob and a few minutes to compose myself. How one day I found out someone I really disliked was pregnant and I cried for a solid hour and told my boss I was sick and I went home and threw a glass on the floor on purpose just so I could watch it shatter into a million pieces.
And I remember how I was already a few precious days pregnant at the time, but didn't know it yet.
And because I remember that I keep pulling up my calendar and recounting the days, hoping to find a mistake in my math, hoping to find a reason to hope that maybe this week's moody funk and today's unsettled reaction is hormonal and ha ha, isn't it just so ironic all over again? Crazy pregnant lady! Go eat some candy!
Nope. No chance. And no reasonable expectation to believe this cycle will go any better than my last one, which was a whopping 56 days long. (The period I mentioned in this entry turned out to be some random spotting on day 45. And of course I secretly thought OMG IMPLANTATION BLEEDING. See? It's like I've got a whole other comments section going on in my head.)
"It will happen when it's meant to happen," my newly-pregnant friend said sympathetically over lunch today. "It will."
And I do believe that. It's happened before. The ever-so-meant-to-be proof is upstairs napping peacefully. I think I'll take him to the park when he wakes up.
I'm just really bummed that meant to be doesn't seem to be right damn now. And also because the stick I peed on just for the hell of it while trying to think of a title for this post was negative and that was really pathetic of me and goddammit, those fuckers are expensive.