Preset Emotion

I can't be the first person to have thought of this, but I kind of like the idea... no, I don't. I hate it. It's a rubbish idea. But it tickles me, for some reason...

Evolutionarily speaking, our main purpose as animals is to procreate, which makes it the job of women to have babies and not do much else, so maybe evolution just kind of assumed that all women would always want babies at all times, and rather than let us come up with our own emotional response, it just stuck a pre-set in: When woman has period, therefore woman shall get all grumpy and depressed.

Whether we think we want babies or not, evolution has decreed that not being pregnant shall royally piss us off. Every single fucking time.

My back is aching now, too. Period due some time in the next 12 hours, I'd say.

Grug

A sudden explosion of anger, frustration and depression, all in one go. Apparently triggered by things not going well at work, but accompanied by a lingering fizzing-in-the-head which generally signifies a bout of PMT.

Of course, it could be pregnancy hormones making me narky... or it could be just that I am naturally narky...

My partner believes that the hoping and the wishing make your periods late.

How fucking infuriating would that be, if one's body and mind were somehow able to conspire amongst themselves to tease you and then throw you against a wall, just when you need it least?

I hate my body sometimes. And I think it hates me, too.

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.

Angry

I’m angry.

I’m probably angry because I have PMT, which is characterised by all-consuming irrational disconcerting anger.

I’m angry because I probably have PMT, which means I’m probably not pregnant.

I’m angry because I want to drink wine to make me feel better because of the PMT, but it might not be PMT, I might be pregnant, and if I am pregnant I can’t drink wine, but I’m probably NOT pregnant, for fuck’s sake. But I might be. So I can’t drink wine. Fuck.