Three signs that I am probably not pregnant:
(1) Missing in action
For the mathematically inclined at home, yes, I know, I’m only 10 days post ovulation. So, technically, my period’s not missed, just missing. Last cycle, gifted and talented ovulator that I am, my period arrived basically 30 minutes after I ovulated. (If you’re wondering - those 29 minutes of I-could-totally-be-pregnant were, in a word, bliss).
Anyway. I’m ten days post ovulation (10dpo if you will – and you will not, because we do not use jargon here) and nothing. Nothing with a big, fat, YET attached to it.
What I think this means: ohmygod I’m pregnant.
What this actually means: Well. Actually. According to numerous reputable online sources – which I had to check because, duh, I still have basically no idea how my body works – Aunt Flo usually doesn’t arrive until 14-16 days post ovulation which means I am… so not pregnant. On a related note, I’m also sick of carrying tampons in every bag and pocket I own. *dramatic sigh.*
Premature menopause hot
As in, several times a day. In particular, when I’m oh, I don’t know, breathing. Or breathing in the close vicinity of another human being. Or possibly walking. Or possibly sitting at my desk trying not to breathe and holding my limbs as still as possible. ProTip: when planning to sweat through your fancy work clothes, best to wear dark colors.
The good folks at “babymed.com” (which is obviously a fake website), have used the illusive double underline to inform me that hot flashes are a sign of early pregnancy. This, alongside ads for “Doctor Pepper” and “public arrest records.” Way to nail your audience, “babymed”!
What I think this means: dazzlingly pregnant.
What this actually means: my body is pumped full of so much residual Chinese hamster ovary that any “early pregnancy symptoms” are merely manifestations of the powerful hormones cycling through every last vein and artery.
(3) I want to eat all the foods
I am always hungry; all of the time. There are
deliriously insane people co-workers of mine who do not eat lunch.
For all I know, these masochists skip breakfast, too. They appear to subsist on
gum wrappers and one single serving, low-fat granola bar each (not even the
hefty Cliff variety but more of a child size Quaker Oats. You know the kind.).
These people are bonkers. These people are also stunned by the amount of round the clock snacking that I require simply to remain upright. As a child, my pediatrician called this “hypoglycemia” which is French for, your kid gets to eat a Kudos bar in the coat closet at 10 am. As a full grown adult, it’s just gluttony.
What I think this means: Basically already in my second trimester.
What this actually means: Since I’m pretty sure that insatiable hunger doesn’t arrive until, oh I don’t know, there’s a legit fetus, there is only one option:
I have a tapeworm, I’m having my 29 year old growth spurt,
I have the reverse flu. Ok fine, I am eating the weight of my feelings
in baked goods.
So. If my analytical reasoning skills have gotten me anywhere – hello big girl lawyer-person – they’ve gotten me here: I am a starving, sweaty, un-pregnant mess with tampons coming out of my ears. <Pause for effect. > C is one lucky guy!
 Luddite that I am, I cannot configure double underlines on this god-for-saken new fangled interweb. But trust: they were there.
 Kudos: where peanut butter smothered in chocolate is “simply nutritious.” Hey, it was the late 80s/early 90s. We were still wearing parachute pants and watching TGIF.
 This is also an appropriate time to mention the thing about my fingernails. It is uncanny and, frankly, unnatural what 11 months of prenatal vitamins can do to these suckers. They’re thick as concrete and long as the day. As I write this, they hover atop the keyboard threatening to…. what’s that? A nail clipper? Oh no. I never thought of that.
Yikes. But really - is this happening to anyone else?