When we rented our home just 11 days ago I remember thinking, way in the back of my mind, that while the move would be hectic, chaotic and require a speed that would be superhuman it would be a very handy distraction from the monthly watch that I so desperately try to avoid. The idea of organizing the move out and the move was, for once, welcome.

And for a while it worked. What with getting to grips with the tenancy agreement, bond documents, first inspection, closing down old accounts, opening new ones, and getting the post directed I was more than too busy to think of anything else. Yes, Ma, even those pictures of the new place you keep asking for.

Now? Now my friendly poas devil has firmly camped out in the new residence just daring me to take a test. I’m sure if pressured enough I’d pee on a popsicle stick. The urge is THAT BIG. I have no reason to expect that a test would come out with anything other than a disappointing result. There have been no real symptoms to speak of. In fact, even with symptoms we know that the outcome is unlikely to be positive. Hey, I may be crazy but I’m not stupid, I can learn that lesson.

The only thing, and it is a small thing, is that 13 days ago I saw something that I rarely have seen. The elusive EWCM actually presented itself, for the second month in a row. Some you are rolling your eyes now, I know. But for me this is not something I normally notice. And then, well, David felt like a very lucky man for about 5 days.

There’s a rational side of me that is telling me to stop thinking about it for Pete’s sake and get on with my life. The tedium of thinking about it is clouding my vision and I can’t get focus on anything for too long. I’m a blast in social situations, let me tell you. It may also be the lack of caloric intake that is causing me to be irritable with myself, a side of effect of losing weight for an upcoming family wedding.

But then there’s that chance of maybe. The optimistic part of me says ‘hey, it could have worked’. I why shouldn’t I be optimistic? I know I can get pregnant. Now it just has to happen again. That’s all. One little sperm (and a gazillion of it’s swimming pals) needs to find that egg. One little egg (and if she’s my egg, she’s a GREAT navigator) needs to find my uterus. And then, just bed down. Dig dip, get comfy and just STICK.

This is the approach I choose to take. To hope for the very, very best. Because I know I can deal with the alternative, I’ve done it before and I can do it again. If needed. I just don’t want to need to this time.

Tags: poas, pregnancy testing

This entry was posted on Friday, June 12th, 2009 at 8:57 am and is filed under Trying to Conceive. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.