Well, now I feel like a real chump. You guys, Yahoo Answers was right. You can have spotting-that’s-kind-of-like-bleeding-noreallyitsbleeding-but-doesn’t-feel-exactly-like-a-normal-period-but-then-seriously what the fuck is normal anymore. And that thing, the spotting or the bleeding or whatever it was, it can mean you are pregnant. You guys, *cue the horn section*, I’m pregnant.
At least for today, at least for this very instant, until a second beta on Sunday proves otherwise or I wake up from this dream.
I’m not exactly sure what was happening the last few days – (avert your eyes if you’re squeamish): I had some spotting on Monday night, very light. Tuesday morning, more of the same. Tuesday late afternoon/evening gave way to well-fuck-this-is-a-real-period. On Wednesday morning, light spotting. All of which is to say that I became disconcertingly comfortable giving the nurse a daily update on “my flow.” (My Flow. i.e. Lilith Fair kiosk, Enya song, every book on sale here.)
C kept insisting I was pregnant. I kept insisting it was a period or yet another early loss. We even had a good cry on Monday night. And by Tuesday I had accepted the next phase.
But then yesterday morning I woke up to a smell. A smell woke me up. At 4 am, wide awake, I turned on the light, and looked around to make sure the dog hadn’t vomited/killed a small mammal/turned into a pumpkin. I still don’t know what the smell was but I am now acutely aware that I have a nose. And that is basically my only “symptom.”
Aside from the positive pee-stick pregnancy test I got this morning and the subsequent blood draw that showed a beta of 141 and the overly excitable tech who did an ultrasound and told me she’d “bet money” that I’m pregnant. She also mentioned seeing a corpus luteum cyst on my right ovary which she was over-the-moon excited about because that right thayh, that’s feeding ya baby! Which I found super creepy – and of questionable scientific accuracy – considering she had her arm deep inside of me. It also made me think of things that eat babies.
When I was a kid, I always pictured telling my husband that I was pregnant just like they do on TV – through food or some complicated illustrated guessing game with a canned laugh track. But of course, C was working a 30-hour overnight shift in the ICU and when I tried to call him this morning with news of my positive pee stick, he was performing CPR on an 85-year-old woman. So I did the next best thing: I sent him a 5 second video of my hand shaking while holding the positive test (a photo just didn’t capture the super faint second line). As I said, supra, C was always convinced that this cycle worked. So when I finally got to talk to him post-beta, his response may have been a mix of ohmygodican’tbelievethisishappening and I’m Right! I’m Right! I’m Right! I Win! I Win! I Win! Mature adults, etc.
Anyway. Because I have a prohibition on celebrating
until the gaggle of cells in my belly becomes a
fully functional 18 year old adult this
early, C just told me he was “going to the store…to, umm, buy walnuts…?” He
returned with cupcakes and cookies. But
not because we’re celebrating. Really. Put away your smiles and let’s all
temper our enthusiasm, shall we? I’m already practicing saying “repeat
Aside: may I just say, you all – you interweb friends and strangers – are the best. Thank you for all of your kind thoughts, good humor and wit after the last post (I didn't mean to deceive you; I had no effing clue what was happening. Clearly.) Also, it’s nice to have a space that embraces my sarcastic negativity. Or at least does a good job pretending.
 Also, dear every Yahoo Answers poster ever: it’s you’re not your. Just read the sentence and replace “your” with you are. If it makes sense, use you’re. That is literally it. That’s the rule. You can do it!
 (Which of course I want to be higher even though I know what really matters is the doubling.)
 Which is disconcerting because based on my 30 seconds of iPhone research on the subway, a corpus luteum cyst can fill with blood, explode, and require surgical removal. So at least I’ve got that going for me.
 True story.