This morning, I peed on a stick. I'm sure you can guess by the fact that this post didn't start with "HOLY SHIT, YOU'RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS!" that it was negative.
Several friends are TTC #2 right now and I think they've infected my head. We haven't done anything (beyond being too tired to have sex for the first year) to prevent pregnancy since Robbie was born. I haven't charted since I got pregnant with Robbie, but years of probing my lady-bits has made me hyper-aware of changes going on in the area, plus when I ovulate now, my left ovary hurts like a bitch. I am keenly aware when it's happening. So I know when we've sexed at a fertile time. Which we have.
So when I woke up this morning and rolled over, squishing a boob in the process, and actually said out loud "OWW" I thought "Hey. Whoa. Boobs really hurt. Ya don't think..." Then I remembered that box of FRERs under the bathroom sink that I made David buy the last time I completely forgot who we were. (And my period started before he even got home with the box, so I never even opened the box.)
I laid there for a minute and told myself I was stupid. But I started thinking about how I'd put Robbie in a "Big Brother" shirt and surprise David. And I'd totally video the whole thing. And he wouldn't notice for a while, and then he wouldn't get it and I'd have to explain, but he'd be so excited and then tell me we weren't so broken after all, and I'd be annoyed at the I-told-you-so, but I'd really just be crying happy tears. And then we'd do the "Big Brother" shirt trick again for our families after we established viability and this baby would be born full term and, really, I really have to pee really badly now so why the hell not. I mean, the tests are just waiting for me, right?
So I got up and dug through dusty hot-rollers and extra rolls of toilet paper and found the tests. I definitely wanted to pee in a cup, not on the stick. I'm an expert at this by now. But shit, it's been so long since I did this regularly, I don't keep a stack of cups on the back of the toilet anymore. I wonder what I did with them? So while doing the pee-pee dance, I dug through the linen closet, eventually finding my plastic cup stash in a basket of extra tampons. The cups are leftovers from our wedding. Yes, four years ago.
I filled the cup and dipped. I waited. For half a second, I thought I saw a line forming. Then I didn't. I saw the control line fade in, but nothing else. I held it up to the light. Hmm, no. I heard Robbie fuss through the baby monitor and decided I'd go get him and then check the stick. Surely that second line would develop by then. By the time I got to Robbie, he was already back to sleep, so I came back and looked at the now fully developed stick. Nothing. I held it up to the light again. I twisted. I turned. I squinted. I mean, I think I'm 13dpo, it could still be really light, right? Maybe if I turn the extra light on? Negatory. I sighed and dumped it in the trash. Nothing like wasting 7 bucks.
I got in the shower and scoffed at myself. As if. I got out of the shower and dug the test out of the trash. Maybe I just didn't give enough time. No change. I dumped it again, disgusted.
And then my reaction changed a bit. The emotion I felt surprised me. I was angry. Really, really mad. I am never going to have a surprise positive. I'm never going to put Robbie in a Big Brother t-shirt and surprise David. I'm never going to be that girl your neighbor knows who tried for 2 1/2 years for #1 and then Bam! got pregnant on her own. I'm never going to be normal.
I thought I already knew that. I thought I had grieved it and accepted it and moved on. I have Robbie now and even if we never have another child, I am truly, truly fulfilled. But this morning, it was like learning it all over again. And it really pissed me off.
I tried to talk myself out of it. The timing wouldn't be great. My gallbladder has got to come out at some point. I would not want to go through a pregnancy with it giving me trouble the way it already is. I'd like to lose some more weight, see a specialist before we conceive. Intellectually, I recognize that snow white pee-stick for the good news that it is.
But emotionally? It's not fair. It's not fair. Robbie will be 2 in May. He deserves a little brother or sister. I'm an only child. I know what it is to crave someone who understands how screwed up his parents are. I know what it is to have to make all the decisions alone, and wonder how I'll care for my aging parents without help. Having siblings doesn't guarantee that won't still happen, but not having them guarantees it will. He deserves a sibling.
I say without excessive egotism that I am a good mother. Not a perfect one by any means, but a good one. Before I had Robbie, I didn't know that I would be. I certainly hoped that I would, certainly. But there was a part of me that wondered if growing up without a mother had broken something in me. I wouldn't have a mother to ask questions of or lean on. What if I couldn't do it? But now I know. Not only have I figured things out so far, but I've handled a child with special needs and done pretty okay by him. I'd be a great mom to another child.
David, for all his faults and the rough start he had to fatherhood, has grown into a good Dad. Now he sends me emails during the day talking about how excited he is to spend time with Robbie that evening, or just to tell me how great our kid is. He's a good dad. And Robbie adores him. We deserve another child.
Since we haven't prevented pregnancy in nearly two years, I knew we still fell into the infertile category. If you'd have asked me, I'd have told you without shame or hesitance that we were an infertile couple. But until today, until this morning, I hadn't felt the sense of sadness or loss that accompanies that label since before Robbie was born.
Today, I renewed my membership to a club I never wanted to belong to in the first place. Old habits die hard.