I have entered the Two Week Wait.
This period, as anyone who is trying to get babied will know, is the most horrendous two weeks of the month. Which is about half of the month, so that means that half of my ENTIRE year is spent like this. In Spanish, Esperar means both “to wait” and “to hope.” Those spaniards clearly know about the Two Week Wait.
Much like the Spaniards, I am divided between waiting and hoping during the two weeks. The first week is about the wait. This is a peaceful, rational time. I’m fairly normal. I can go about my business- driving, working, eating food not laden with butter. I don’t obsessively check the app that tracks my period. I just function like a human being. It is a beautiful thing, folks.
Then Week Two arrives. Emotions take over. I start checking my app to calculate *precisely* when my period is supposed to come. I may start speculating on due dates, or idly picking out names. Then I start imagining what’s going on in there, “there” being my cobwebby uterus. Every tiny change or oddity in my body must be “a sign,” right?
Wrong. So far, here is a list of things my overactive imagination has mistaken for early pregnancy.
- Implantation cramps — Indigestion from exuberant take-out
- Morning sickness — Nausea from the ever fluctuating hormones associated with my period. Or maybe the take out.
- Pregnancy weight gain — Actual weight gain associated with overeating and the slovenly lifestyle I have adopted since my mom went into the hospital
- Shortness of breath — Being out of shape, thanks to aforementioned slovenly lifestyle
- Tender boobies — Sore pecks from push ups after my illfated attempt to address aforementioned out-of-shape-ness
About a day or two before my period is scheduled to arrive, I decide this is obviously hopeless. Another month down, and still nothing to show for it. I cave, and drink a glass of wine. Then I feel terrible because if I am actually pregnant, I have done my baby irreparable harm by drinking alcohol. It will come out with three arms and a pathological obsession with Michael Bolton. I will likely cry.
Then my period comes. I’m bummed for a day or two (not to mention the earth shattering cramps) but then I’m okay. It’s like last month never happened at all.
And I’m back where I started.