Like riding a bike

12 Apr

My period is late.  Like a LOT late.  I’m not pregnant.  I know this.  Not only is the timing of things wrong but I’ve taken a pregnancy test.  I know I’m not pregnant AND I’M GLAD.  Mostly.

We’re still on the fence with #3.  There are days when I can’t imagine adding more chaos to our lives and days when I can’t imagine not giving birth again or nursing a new baby or rubbing my cheeks on fluffy baby hair.  But when I look deep into myself I really can see being happy with just the four of us.  Todd would be more than thrilled with keeping things they way they are and on most days, I would too.  I just don’t know.

But I digress.

I spoke to my OB’s nurse yesterday about this missing period thing and asked if there was anything I should do.  I was taken aback when she called me with the instructions to come in for a pregnancy test. “Taken aback” is the world’s biggest understatement, FYI.  I agreed and told her I’d be in something in the morning and hung up the phone.  After taking a few minutes to process what she said I got really, really angry.

My cycles since Finn have been a mess, very unpredictable.  I’m older.  And fatter.  It’s not really a huge surprise.  What was surprising was how I felt this morning when I went into the old clinic/lab.  I knew where to park and which floor and where the lab check in was located.  I knew the protocol with the paperwork and how to exit swiftly and make my way to the elevator with tears streaming down my face.  This morning was so much like all of those other mornings 5 years ago.  Hell, daycare shares the same parking lot as the company where I worked back then.  It was way too surreal and heart wrenching.  Especially for someone who doesn’t even know if she wants to go through this all again.

I suspect I’ll get a phone call tomorrow morning (or maybe even tonight) with negative results.  They’ll offer to call in a prescription for some progesterone to kick start my period.  Do I want to investigate what’s going on with my body and go in for CD3 bloodwork?  Or just let sleeping dogs lie and deal with the unpredictability of my body?

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