Oh my God, I'm bleeding. My period has arrived, praise the Lord I don't believe in. That's right, folks, it's cycle day 1 for me. That means that we're actually going to do it--after a year of trying, we're going to do the Clomid and actually have a real shot at getting pregnant, for the first time ever. I'm so excited, I think I might throw up.
We'll be having our baby-making sex at my mother-in-law's house while she sleeps down the hall, but happily, that kind of risk seems to turn my husband on, so he'll probably be very enthusiastic about it. He wants a child as much as I do, so I know getting him to screw like minks won't be a problem.
And thankfully, he'll be here when we find out whether it worked or not. Negative or positive, I don't want to have to tell him the results of the pregnancy test over a satellite phone from three thousand miles away, which is how I was afraid it would be. But it looks like I'll be peeing on the little stick about five days before he goes overseas.
The peeing on a stick thing is nothing new to me. After a year of trying, I've peed on every kind of stick there is. EPT, First Response, CVS brand, I've tried them all. Home pregnancy sticks, ovulation predictor sticks, random sticks off the ground that looked like they might give me a positive result. I see a stick and I just can't help whizzing on it.
At least this time, I know there's at least a small, tiny chance it might be pregnant. And if it's not, I'll be disappointed but at least happy that we got the chance and don't have to wait four more months for the King to get home from the war and try again.
And oh God, the war. What do I do if it's positive, and then he goes off, and he gets shot? Or blown up? Or...must stop, or I will cry. The last time he was in [classified country name], the building he was working in was bombed. A bunch of people were killed, and the King helped carry in the wounded men. Thank God (and for this, I really do believe in Him), he wasn't hurt. I saw the report of the bombing on the news, and for the two hours between then and when the King was able to call and tell me he was okay, I actually thought I might be dying. I could hardly stand, my legs were shaking so badly, and my lungs were burning from not being able to breathe. What if the test is positive, and he dies?
Jesus, enough of that. He's not even there yet. It'll be fine, and in the meantime, we're going to have lots of (quiet) sex in his mother's guest room and a fabulous vacation in New York. It'll be fine.