I got my period today. I guess that’s good. Last month, after a little mistake right around ovulation time, I was worried that I might be pregnant because I am nothing if not fertile. Like I always get knocked up on the first try fertile. How I didn’t become a teen pregnancy statistic is a complete mystery to me…
Anyway, I was all afraid I was pregnant, particularly because I had THE STOMACH ACHE. This is a particular kind of stomach pain that I only ever got when I was pregnant. It always feels like something is gnawing at me from the inside— 24 hours a days for the first 13 weeks.
Well, I had that and it only made me more afraid that I was pregnant. And the pooping. Or lack thereof. That’s always a hallmark of my pregnancies and I invariably end up eating like six boxes of raisin bran a month. And the belly. I LOOKED three months pregnant, which after you’ve had a couple kids, can happen in the first six weeks or so.
But then my period came and I was relieved. Sort of. And I went on with my life. The stomach aches continued, as did the other anomalies that I would normally attribute to being with child and finally it became unbearable. I was wearing my drawstring buffet pants every damn day and eating Rolaids and Tums like they were candy and the other thing? Even bowls and bowls of raisin bran didn’t help. And yet, I was definitely NOT pregnant.
So I went to a gastroenterologist and after asking me a bunch of questions, he suggests I lay off the Rolaids and Tums and have a colonoscopy so they can see what’s going on. Did he just say he WANTS TO STICK A CAMERA UP MY ASS?
I’m like “Really? Is that actually necessary?” which of course, he says yes. But don’t worry, he says, you’ll be asleep.
Translation: YOU’LL NEVER EVEN KNOW I PUT A CAMERA UP YOUR ASS
Except I would know.
And a ton of people will see my cellulite while I’m sleeping. With a camera up my ass. So undignified.
Did I mention I’m really vain?
So this was like three weeks ago. I put off Asscam 09 because BlogHer was coming up and frankly, if there was any bad news (that would be cancer, said Dr. Asscam), I would know right after the procedure and I didn’t want to go to Chicago with bad news on my mind. I’m selfish like that.
Also, I have to drink a WHOLE BOTTLE of Miralax the day before. Do I really need to elaborate on this?
Well, Blogher is now over and I still haven’t made the appointment. I’m scared. I know it’s selfish to keep putting it off because you know, I have kids and stuff but I just. Can’t. Do. It. I can’t make the call. I’ve tried.
Talk some sense into me.
I also got a mole biopsied a couple weeks ago. I never heard back from the dermatologist so I’m assuming there’s nothing to be concerned about. But really…two cancer things in one month? Can anyone blame me for being in total denial mode?
So the other night, we’re watching WEEDS. Don’t know if you watch it or not but Nancy had her baby, right? And it’s making all those newborn baby grimaces—and then it smiles. And I start tearing up.
A part of me really wants another baby. All the fear and hoping I wasn’t pregnant was a kneejerk reaction, I think. We have two kids already and no room or money for a third. It’s a bad idea. But my heart and hormones don’t care about that. They want what they want. And my husband doesn’t want what he doesn’t want. He has zero interest in having more children. And frankly, another child would probably take us to the brink of insanity. Neither of us handles stress very gracefully. And P, my youngest, still needs me even though he announced the other day that he “wants a bunch of babies.” And N is growing up faster than I can even make sense of. Having another baby would take my attention away from them and that would kill me.
And yet, despite all of that, I still can’t think about the fact that I will most likely never again hold another baby of my own—not without getting all sad. Because I just want what I want. And what I want is to be a mom one more time. Even if it’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever had. And inconvenient. And selfish.
I keep hoping this is all hormonally-driven. Or some kind of phase. I can’t imagine feeling this way for the rest of my life anymore than I can imagine starting all over with a newborn. Maybe if I leave post-it notes all over the place with phrases like “sleep deprivation!” “cracked nipples!” “colic!” and “episiotomy!” I’ll get over it faster…
And I still can’t imagine willingly attending Asscam 09.