I’ve had PMS for two weeks now: cranky, hungry, moody, sore boobs, cramping, the works. I IM’d with Reni last night and she’s was a day or two late, too, and we commiserated about how bloated it feels. Neither of us thought we were late for any particular reason. I told her I’d decided to take a test this morning, ’cause there’s nothing like wasting twelve bucks to get AF to show up.

Well, I took a test this morning. And it was a big fat positive.

I was shocked. It hadn’t crossed my mind that I might be preggo. But there it is. I took the test out into the living room and handed it to Brett, who was playing video games. “I took a test to make my period start because I’m three days late. But it’s positive.”

Brett looked at it and handed it back, saying, “That’s a pretty positive positive.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I thought it was PMS.”

“Mmm,” he said. “I’m really not sure how I feel about this.”

“Me neither,” I said. “But as these things have a tendency not to stick, I don’t think either of us have to decide just yet.”

“Damn, baby,” he said.

“Ain’t that the truth,” I said as I left the room.

So I only drank half of the cup of coffee I’d poured, and of course I’ll have to quit smoking. (I know from the last time I was pregnant that I have the ability to quit in three days.) I emailed my nurse-midwife to find out if I can continue with the evening primrose oil I’ve been taking to keep my fucking hair from falling out.

I haven’t been temping for a few months, but I wondered if I should start tomorrow morning. That way I’d know in advance if I’m about to miscarry (one’s basal body temperature stays high when the bod’s making progesterone, so a temperature drop would signify impending miscarriage). Then I thought I’d know anyway – my last miscarriage made me totally fucking crazy days before my temp dropped. Right now AF is only three days late and I tend to miscarry within a week or two.

I’d given up thinking I could get pregnant, so this is shocking. And we wanted to work on the house and move away, so if this sticks the timing will be shitty.

I guess that’s just how it works.

I endeavor to be detached until another two weeks have passed. At that point, if for some unknowable reason I haven’t miscarried, I’ll be stoked… or even more pissed off. LOL!

Yes, I think I’m a little aggrivated. So often you don’t get something until you quit wanting it – I didn’t get Brett until I’d totally given up on men and relationships. Since I’d given up on the idea of going through the whole parenthood experience, and had even given up on wondering if my giving up was sour grapes or mature acceptance – now this utterly disturbing BFP on a Thursday morning!

I’ve thought about parenthood – particularly motherhood – in great detail over the years. There’s no good reason for doing it other than the curiosity of wanting to know what it’s like. I’m deeply curious about what it’s like, but motherhood is not trivial. Moms work their asses off, and don’t really get a hell of a lot back for their trouble. I already have one human being to wait on hand and foot, and I don’t really know if I can hack having another.

Of course something about the hormones of pregnancy and motherhood make it so you will do whatever needs to be done, and of course if it comes down to it I will be able to hack it. It just looks, from the outside, like a fuckload of work for not much reward.

Brett’s really good in a crisis, to be honest – if I stay pregnant he’ll probably be really astonishingly great for the next year or so. But then he’ll go back to normal life, which is, for him, doing only what he wants when he wants to do it and nothing more, and I’ll have him to clean up after plus a tiny human.

And in the end, what will have happened? Love? A contribution to the flow of life? Self knowledge through self sacrifice?

Hopefully there’s something ineffably wonderful hidden in there, because like I said, it just looks like an assload of work to me. 😉
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