April 19, 2005
It's not my first two-week wait.
No, I had two-week waits wondering-- er, hoping-- that I might be one of the 1% of women to get pregnant on the Pill. I had a "sort of" two-week wait a couple of months ago after some risky anniversary behavior.
In fact, I even had two-week waits in my virginal days. My pre-pill periods were so regular that the few late ones would cause me to panic about what non-intercourse action with the current boyfriend could have led me to conceive. I'll never forget going through sorority rush wondering, "What will these girls think if they find out I'm pregnant with baby Jesus?"
Still, this month's wait has been unique: it's truly my first in which conception would not be a freak, bizarre occurrence.
I didn't want to obsess these two weeks. Really. Well, this is why I don't believe in free will.
Let me explain: Do not think about breathing. Where's she going with this? you ask. Just trust me. Do not think about breathing, about that breath going in, out, in, out. Do not breathe slowly. Do not fill your lungs with a deep breath.
How you doing there?
Now, try telling someone in the two-week wait not to think about being pregnant. Do not figure out your potential due date. Do not peek inside a pregnancy book. Whatever you do, do not picture holding your own baby nine months from now.
I've decided that wondering will just have to be a part of the game for me. The harder I try not to think about things, the more I find myself thinking about them!
My new approach is to allow myself to embrace the thoughts, then re-direct myself to the tasks at hand.
I'm Sure I'm Pregnant, Because...
At least a quarter of my wayward thoughts center on pregnancy symptoms. Intellectually, I know that the bodily clues found in the first two weeks after conception can easily be explained by PMS. Intellectually.
Okay, but how about these symptoms?
1) I was standing in the kitchen, when-- snap! My bra strap popped off. Swelling?
2) I dreamt that I caught a rabbit. It doesn't take a guru to figure out that one.
3) At what I think was ten days past ovulation, my temp dropped. Could I be in the 10% of women who get an implantation dip?
After seeing that dip, I found myself nearing schizophrenia. I must be pregnant!... No, I couldn't be pregnant!... An implantation dip-- it couldn't be more clear!... No, Aunt Flo is coming--that's all it means!...
When I made it through day 10 spot free, I knew it all hinged on the next day's temp. Don't ask me how I ever fell asleep.
With butterflies-- no, a drum corps-- in my belly, I took my temp yesterday. Waiting, waiting, waiting for the beep.
97.5. Low. Aunt Flo. Here in all her glory.
The funny thing is that her arrival hasn't devastated me as I expected. Heading into cycle two, my heart is somehow light.