About two weeks-ish ago, Kristen H commented that there's nothing like a pregnancy scare to REALLY help you figure out how you feel about having another baby.
When I missed my period this weekend, my feelings were something like: oh hell oh shit oh fuck oh minivan.
When I stopped at a drugstore near by parents' house in Pennsylvania for a pregnancy test, the girl ringing me up gave me a knowing sort of stinkeye, and I stared at my feet and felt awkward and...you know, SHAMEFUL. I shoved the bright pink package into my diaper bag and ignored it for the next several hours while Jason kept looking at me with his eyes bulging out of his head. Who was I and what had I done with the peestick-happy woman he'd married? What was I waiting for, already?
"I don't have to pee yet," I whispered. Even though I did. Kind of. Let's just say I've peed on sticks with less.
Finally I retreated to the bathroom and dug out the package. I opened up a stick -- careful not to destroy the wrapper, since I sure as hell wasn't leaving pregnancy-test debris in my parent's wastebasket -- and whoa, deja vu. So many times -- SO MANY TIMES -- I'd done this, desperately hoping, knowing in my head that I was going to be disappointed, but still. Hoping.
I still wasn't exactly sure what result I was hoping for this time. But when the test result displayed a resoundingly solid negative, I realized that wasn't it.
I wrapped the test up in a tissue and shoved it back in the package and into the bottom of the diaper bag and went back downstairs. I shook my head -- just a tiny bit -- at Jason.
"No?" he asked. I shook my head again. I felt so obvious -- and so very lame, and a little arrogant, for assuming that my body would ever make anything that easy.
"NO?" he asked again. There was obvious disappointment in his voice. I raised my eyebrows at him, like, really? REALLY? You realize we're insane, right? Only one of us is allowed to be insane about stuff like this. And I believe I called dibs on the baby-making insanity years ago. You be the practical one, dammit!
"It's for the best," we later agreed. Definitely for the best. Fun and exciting in theory, certainly wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen but...yes. For the best. Like we said! Give us time to get back above water after a bad year of medical bills and taxes and everything in our house deciding to up and break at the same time. Give Noah some more time to really progress at camp and school.* Give us all some time to really soak up and enjoy Ezra's babyhood.** Give me time to actually not have a baby for awhile before deciding that I cannot live without another one.
(Of course, I did only take one test, and I did buy a two-pack...and...)
(STOP IT, SELF. OH MY GOD.)
So. No. That is that. I am both relieved and disappointed. Mostly relieved. No. Yes. I don't know. Make that relieved, disappointed and conflicted. Three things. Relieved, disappointed, conflicted, and batshit insane. Wait. Amongst my weaponry are such emotions as...eh. Fuck it, I don't know how to end this entry so I'm just going to go with the ol' just-stop-typing method. Right after a couple footnotes and photos.***
* Camp. CAMP! They keep losing our lunchboxes. But they also keep sending home a child who is a million times calmer, more coordinated, more talkative, better behaved and possibly even more adorable than the one I dropped off in the morning. Either Noah is REALLY clicking with this particular approach to occupational therapy or they are slowly turning him into a cyborg. He went on the monkey bars for the first time ever this weekend, and did a damn good job on them. Today he came home and told me everything he learned about whales.
** I swear, that child woke up this morning looking two months older than he did when I put him to bed last night, what the HELL.