Let the countdown begin.
By the time I get around to finishing and publishing this post there will only be about 18 hours left in what ranks in the top 3 most anxiety-filled 36 hour periods of my life. Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to nod off while typing. Sleep would be a welcome change of pace at the moment. The progesterone has a slight sedative effect but the angst about today’s test and tomorrow’s result kept me from blinking last night. Sleeping would also really help to pass a few of those 18 hours a little faster. It’s amazing, though, how your body can fight through total exhaustion just to torture your mind into keeping you awake. When I’m this tired, I find I’m hyper-aware of my early pregnancy/progesterone side effect symptoms. Swell timing. Just when I need to keep my mind off this the most, I can’t stop feeling…pregnant.
I left a vial of blood at LabCorp this morning and got a nifty bruise in exchange. I tend to make dumb jokes when I’m nervous (and most other times, too). The phlebotomist was preoccupied by a bit of a customer service issue wearing Cato’s finest who was tapping her foot in the waiting room. In an attempt to get her to pay attention to the needle in my arm, I asked her if mine “looked like pregnant blood.” She smiled one of those “I really don’t have time for humor this morning but you look nice and desperate enough so I’ll play along” smiles. With almost convincing sincerity, she asked if I wanted to be pregnant. Do I want to be pregnant? Are you f&#*ing kidding me??? Sometimes I forget there are women in this world who don’t want to be pregnant. Or that there was a time in my life when I didn’t want to be. “Yes. I do want to be pregnant.” She held up the vial and seemed to say a sweet little prayer. Cute. A little religious for your run-of-the-mill phlebotomist, but well-intentioned. And if it would’ve worked, she could’ve spoken in tongues and handled a snake.
I know I’ve said it before, but my wife should be sainted. I’m so lucky that she gets me. She has done a lot of agreeing with me lately; whether she means it or not, I couldn’t care less. I don’t even agree with me half the time these days, particularly when the progesterone transforms me into some sort of Jim Henson creation. But there she stands by my side, reassuring me every step of the way. Her strength is astounding. Same goes for our wonderful group of friends and family who are on pins and needles right along with us. We love you all very much.
Took a break from writing this to do homework with MKL and the 10-year-old for whom she is the most perfect nanny on earth. I have been nurturing the wannabe mommy in me through my interaction with this amazingly complex child since early last year. And sitting at the table discussing his math problems with him and MKL made me pray even harder that my blood indeed looks pregnant when they put it in their fancy lab machinery.
I’ve been pondering events that prompt a countdown: the New Year (obvious), space shuttle takeoffs (well, they used to), the Oscars (clearly the best-deserved countdown…at the very least it’s the one with the best host). We’ve been talking about starting a family since our second real date. [for your convenience, I’ve done the conversions: the lesbian second date is roughly equal to about the 6-month mark for breeders and 8th anniversary for gay men; I don’t have any available data for the trans community] I figure an event as long in the making as my pregnancy is definitely worthy of its own countdown. And the 18 hours we have left should be a piece of cake compared with the last 9 years, right?
Right. If you’re looking for me I’ll be listening to the clock tick. tock….tick….tock….tick….tock…..tick…….tock…………..tick……………….Is it slowing down? I swear it’s slowing down!!!