I spent a good chunk of last night looking at pictures of other people's pregnancy tests online. I'm not kidding. (Oh, how I wish I were kidding.)
This was going to be my deep, dark secret. But then it occurred to me that I was pretty hilarious, sneaking around on my own computer, lurking on infertility forums and Fertility Awareness sites. All shifty eyes and fingers at the ready to close my browser should someone come into screen-viewing distance, I might as well have been looking at the Internet's filthiest porn. But no. It was pictures of home pregnancy tests. I'm a pee stick fetishist.
Now you know. And if you stop reading, I'll completely understand.
No one makes an HPT patch yet—you know, something you could slap on your arm when you get the craving for a home pregnancy test. So I guess I thought looking at photos of other people's tests might calm the pregnancy paranoia that scratches around inside my head every few weeks. Also, I was counting on the Internet to remind me, as Rob as so dutifully done for the past few days, that a pregnancy test peed on right now would tell us absolutely nothing. (And even if it were "officially" late enough, a test might not be accurate. I didn't get a positive pregnancy test with Westley until day cycle day 37!)
Which is really to say that it's one thing to say, "No big deal. We'll just have fun and not think about it and if I get pregnant, fine, and if not, fine. It's all good." It's another thing entirely to try to accomplish that. Because while I imagine myself as being this super-calm, serene, whatever happens is cool person, I'm not that AT ALL. If something is going on—especially something in my own body—I want to know about it. I want to know yesterday.
The other thing is that creating the possibility of pregnancy means, well, thinking about it. Not thinking about it could result in medication taken, alcohol enjoyed, vitamins neglected. I've been freezing my ass off in this Pacific Northwest proto-winter, but aren't hot baths strictly off-limits for the newly pregnant?
I see Rob trying to wrap his mind around my preganioa and failing. I'd like to think it's biology that's the problem—he's never had a uterus—and not that my behavior is wholly incomprehensible. However, he has the decency not to laugh at my lunacy.
Not to my face, anyway.