It’s barbaric.
It’s unjust.
Oh hell. It just isn’t right.
I swear to you lovely ladies (and the few lone gentlemen who put up with me): I am starting to twitch. I was not built for this kind of… unknowing.
I had promised myself I would wait until at least Sunday to pee on a stick. I’ll admit: I have this picture in my head of how I am supposed to find out I’m pregnant, and it doesn’t involve a phone call.
I am supposed to be standing over a pee stick jumping up and down with elation in the privacy of my own home.
I am not supposed to be in the confines of my office trying to mute my squeals.
So, I've known that I would break down at some point and pee on a stick, if only because I've really been hoping to prep myself one way or the other for the big day.
But – and this is a big but – I've been worried about testing too soon and ending up with either a false negative (because the levels just haven’t made it to my pee stream yet) or a false positive (because the hormones from the shot that made me do this are still hanging around).
It's a delicate balance. I haven’t wanted to crush myself with a false negative, but I also haven’t wanted to build myself up only to be crushed later on by a false positive.
And, unfortunately, there are really no guarantees at all that my test results will be accurate before my blood test on Tuesday.
In fact, the odds are probably greater that I can't really count on whatever result I get at all.
Which is scary.
I knew I would test, but I only wanted to do it once. And I wanted to do it as near to my actual blood test as I could manage to wait.
Except that today, I started to twitch. I read about women who tested positive as early as I am and who went on to have perfect little babies. I started to convince myself that if they could know this soon, I could too.
And wouldn’t knowing be better than not knowing?
I didn’t mean to do it, but on the way home from work I might have pulled into Walgreens. It was like I was being lured there by some uncontrollable force.
The same force that made me do this:
That is enough tests to last me up until the morning of my blood draw.
I have officially plunged myself into infertile lunacy.
Now, the real trick here is going to be not trusting anything those tests tell me. Recognizing that only the blood test next Tuesday will be able to give me the real truth.
Looking at these tests more like a visit with a cheap birthday party psychic. Expecting that they could get a few details right, but not really believing anything they predict until it happens.
I can do that, right? I can look at whatever the results may be objectively and not let myself get too worked up either way. Can't I?
Sure I can.
I think.
My dad told me not to do this to myself. He told me to wait until Tuesday. He said I would just make myself more crazy.
You know what I told him?
Not. Possible.
I have officially crossed the line. When I start rocking back and forth and reciting nonsensical syllables to myself, please feel free to cart me off to the looney bin.
But if you know what’s good for you, you'll send my pee sticks with me.
