Back when I started TTC, I bought a 3-pack of pregnancy tests. Remember, I’m a planner. I thought it would be a good idea to have these around for when I inevitably got pregnant. Which would be soon, right?
So cute, this idea of “planning” when it comes to pregnancy. So so cute…
I went through two of them in the first few months, back before my body had sorted itself out and was having erratic cycles. The last one I used was when I was a week late. You’d think that would be a pretty good indicator of pregnancy, wouldn’t you? Nope. It was a pretty good indicator that my ovulation was pretty whacky. That was all.
But I got over it, and eventually my cycles started going like clock work. I mean, it’s been amazing. *Exactly* two weeks after I ovulate, I start my period. About 7 days before, I undergo an excruciating cornucopia of PMS symptoms. Cramping ensues. And I get sad. Every month for the past year.
There has been this lone pregnancy test sitting in the back of my bathroom cabinet for the past year. I’ve been tempted to bust it out when I’ve been really impatient with my body. As anyone who has tried getting pregnant knows, that two-week wait is a killer. I don’t get too bad until the last 7 days. That’s when I get nutty, and my brain darts to the back of my cabinet.
The last pregnancy test became a symbol. I had sort of decided that THAT test would be “the one.” It made refusing to use it so much easier. I didn’t want to ruin it with my pee and inevitable negative result. Its presence meant that I was handling this process with logic and self-restraint. It was my consolation prize. “I may not have a baby, but at least I have that last pregnancy test! I have my dignity!” So far, I have resisted.
That is until this month. Because this month, my body did everything it normally did…. except the period. It was more like an ellipsis. I missed a day. Another one. Then a third. So I figured… “Why not break out that test?”
Now, don’t get your hopes up. Nothing good came of this. On Friday, I woke up, broke out the test, peed, and waited the obligatory 2 minutes.
Whooomp, whooooomp…. A big, old, fat negative. And six hours later I sat on my couch with my period and my cramps, but without my self-righteousness.
I’ve lost a lot throughout this whole TTC process. (I will regale you with a full inventory of this at some other point.) And for everything I’ve lost, I’ve replaced it with something. Not always a good something, but hey… there is a void. It begs to be filled. Among those things, I’ve lost my faith in faith. I replaced it with science and logic. If I just measure and control the f@ck out of this process, it feels like less of a personal defeat every month. So instead of hope and prayer, I have ovulation calendars and pregnancy tests. Or HAD pregnancy tests. Le sigh…
Oddly, I’m less upset by the loss of the last pregnancy test than I thought I would be. I don’t know that this is a good thing. It feels like just another in a long string of let downs. But how do you go through this without becoming a bit of a pessimist?
By buying another stupid, f@cking pack of pregnancy tests, that’s how.