image: Mr. T in DC
I live in a fantasy world that I could be pregnant. Cramps? Check. Weepies? Check. ADD? Check. A really bad case of the crankies? Check. Boobs a little tender? Check. More peeing than usual? Check. Random sneezing? Check (that is so a symptom, people!).
To counteract this fantasy, I have been repeating the following mantra: I'm probably not pregnant, it's just the progesterone. Or allergies. Or annoyance with the job that is my life. Or my period on its way. Or. Or. Anything but that which I want the most.
This is my mantra! / This is my crutch! / This is for coping! / This is too much!
I bet you saucy minxes are asking, "Mrs. X, why don't you just go POAS?" Ah, were it that easy. See, I have a pathological aversion to taking an HPT. Part of it stems from my very real concern of a false positive as a result of the HCG trigger. That would just totally and absolutely suck. I also don't have any HPTs in the house and I don't feel like getting The Look at CVS or Walgreens when I surreptitiously slide the test across the counter. And I have always equated HPTs to that shameful feeling you have as a teenager when you think you're pregnant and the only way to find out is to go and pee on the stick of doom. So, the answer would be "no". I will not POAS.
Instead, I will continue my current practice of distraction which now includes trying to think of all of the things that I can do should the test be negative. Bath? Check. Wine? Check, check. Gardening? Check. Heavy lifting? Check. Diet Coke? Check please.
We're in total self-preservation time, people. It's going to get ugly.