I get to buy these shoes, or something like them.

I decided that I would buy them if this cycle turns out negative, and as of today’s first-thing-in-the-morning POAS, it is.  Negative.

This is a little bit harder than I thought because over the weekend, particularly on Sunday, I felt so damn pregnant.  Felt like a rubber chicken.  Appetite came and went.  So tired.  So emotional.  So HOT.  Uggggh, if not being pregnant now means I might be able to get it done in non-summer months, sign me up.  Just that miserable, oily, fat, hot-all-over volcano feeling when everyone else is saying "It’s soooo nice out!" – yeah, that’s something I don’t mind missing out on. 

I was such a mess that I told my husband that I thought I might be pregnant after all, and now I’m racked with guilt that he has to go through the disappointment all over again when he gets up and I tell him.  But we talked about that, when he did what he always does when I am freaking out: suggested we go for a walk.  So we walked, and I told him I felt like I should absorb all the uncertainty myself, since it’s so much about my self-absorbed perception of the twinges, frissons, and other ephemeral feelings I’m having.  But like the very good husband he is, he asserted that he wanted to share what he could. 

I hate this.  Specifically the Charlie-Brown-with-the-football way that the hormones fake pregnancy, and so all the pregnancy signs are there except, hello, the BABY.  It reminds me of my premarital romantic / dating life.  It seemed like I was forever getting it wrong.  Thinking guys were interested when they weren’t.  Thinking they liked me for X when all they wanted was Y.  Not noticing guys who were interested until it was too late and they had gone and married someone else.  I always felt like I was going down the up staircase at rush hour in the subway.  The best I could do then, and hope for now, is to move from Nothing Going On to Anything Can Happen, and forgive myself for trying to decipher unknowable, unpredictable circumstances.

The interesting thing is that yesterday I started to think I was pregnant and I was scared.  Not just of the things that any intelligent person would be scared of, i.e., having children, but also of getting through that pregnancy time when I felt so rubbery and weak and exhausted and too emotional to deal with anything.

It scared me badly to think of being so physically incapacitated, even in context of achieving my heart’s desire and my goal.  And this is normal. I needn’t worry.  I’ll be fine, my husband is here to help, I won’t have to get up and run a marathon or do eight shows a week or take a final exam very often during the pregnancy – on the marathon and the exam that would probably be uh, never again, anyway – and it’ll be fine.  I was just scared.

If you’ve had children and your fingers itch to let me know that I’ll be fine, don’t.  I’m too angry right now to receive advice of any kind.  My first illogical / angry thought is, if I can’t even GET pregnant who cares how I will be WHEN pregnant?   

An illogical assumption that these things are linear, when the truth is, life can change in an instant.  Girls who haven’t had a date in ten years will meet some guy at the vet’s office and be married within months.  I am a linear person and assumed, in the hopeful room of my soul (I think it has a canopy bed and a fuzzy pink phone and posters of a younger George Clooney), that my efforts would trend upward gradually.  Maybe this time I’d stay pregnant a few more weeks before miscarrying, or maybe this time I’d just get pregnant for real.  I didn’t want the trend to slip back from a little pregnant last time, to … nothing. 

But that makes no sense. 

So.  I have the Big Diet, which broke down a bit when I felt pregnant, but only for a day, and not disastrously.  I have a pair of cute green shoes coming my way.  I have my beta on Wednesday and no expectations there.  I have, as always, a few more barnacles of experience and self-knowledge stuck to my hull as I move forward, slowly.  It’s not great, but it’s not that bad, and while it’s not true this week, it’s generally still true: Anything Can Happen.