Nope II

On Friday morning I was there again, in the loo, inspecting the bogroll for Signs.

And there it was. A sign.

My period was a day late, you see. And this is rare, these days. Ever since Child No. 1 was born, I've been regular.

This is a good thing. With Child No. 1, I waited a fortnight to do a test because lateness was normal, and I couldn't bear the disappointment of a negative result.

But now, one day late... that means something.

And then I went to the loo. And there was A Sign. A tiny smidgeon of an almost-not-there sign, but a sign nevertheless. And I took it to mean that I wasn't pregnant. And I cried. And that evening, with friends, I was grumpy and morose. Couldn't talk about anything else. Not pregnant.

But then there was no period. And then it was Saturday, and there was still no period. And I wondered. Maybe...

So I took the test out of its wrapper, and counted to sixty... and the bloody fucking thing didn't work. Avoid excessive splashing, it said. No longer than five seconds in the stream. The line in the oval control window didn't appear. Discard and try again, it said. Oh, fuck.

So I had to go to the shop and buy another one, and I convinced myself that Him Indoors didn't want me to be pregnant anyway, and I got myself in a right old state, trailing around the supermarket wondering, am I, what if I am, what if I am...

Home. Did the test. Waited five minutes. The phone rang while I was waiting. Questions being called down the stairs, inconsequential questions about dates and visits, and I didn't fucking care, I just wanted to know if I was pregnant...

And the test said no.

And I didn't believe it.

Because I might be in that fraction of a percent with inaccurate results. Because my stupid fucking period still didn't start. And then I remembered, why I waited a fortnight, that last time, when Child I was conceived. Because the month before I went through this exact same thing. Got impatient. Did a test. Negative. Didn't believe it. Period still didn't arrive. Wishing it would just fucking come so I could know it and accept it and get on with the rest of my life.

And what if my hormone levels were all fucked up because it was ectopic? Or what if I was pregnant, but with really weak hormone levels, putting me at risk of miscarriage?

And I had to spend time with my sister, who's pregnant, and it's lovely, and I'm really pleased for her, but it's just... well. You know.

But I didn't. Didn't know. Couldn't know, not until the bleeding started.

It started today, and it was a relief. Now I can look forward again. Get out of the limbo. Escape the grip of extended PMT.

And I looked in my diary and found out my period was due a day later than I thought. When I thought I was a day late, I wasn't.

It's all right. It's only been two months. Now I can get on with all that stuff I'm supposed to have finished by now. Now I can really clear the decks and set myself up for a clear straight path next month.

Next month, I'll get pregnant.