According to my book, I might already be two weeks pregnant.
According to my body, “it” really could have happened over the last couple of nights.
According to my brain, I realize it might not even happen this month.
What do you call this stage of not-quite-but-maybe-pregnantness? In my mind, I’m calling it “peri-pregnancy,” but I think I’m stealing that from “perimenopause.”
It is a general stage of weirdness. I guess most people just call it “trying to conceive,” but I feel like this is a condition that needs a real name. Because I’m thinking about it all the time, and because a book is telling me that I might already be pregnant. A weird, psychic book.
And now that I’m two weeks past my FDLP, it’s prime time, baby. For the first time ever — you know, besides the occassional scare — I might actually be pregnant right now. It’s crazy!
If I could predict what the test would read, I might be able to walk down the street — in theory — saying, “Yeah, so I’m two weeks pregnant.” Me!
Now, I really must let the overexcitable hypochondriac in me say a few words: I have felt funny, sort-sick since the moment I woke up this morning. I have way too much saliva in my mouth. I’m constantly trying to swallow it.
Don’t believe me — because I don’t believe myself, really. I can’t deny that I have felt weird this morning. But a couple of people in the office are sick, so it could be that. I don’t know.
At least I’m stating how I really feel for the record. So in two weeks, I might be able to look back and say, “Hey, I really did feel pregnant right away. How ’bout that?”
Or, you know, I might have just read wayyy too many books on this, and am reading into everything. Like when Little Sis developed an allergy to pineapple, and I decided I had one, too.
*UPDATED at 11:48 a.m.*
I have never had this much excess saliva in my LIFE. Seriously. This is getting weird. If it turns out that I am pregnant, scientists should study me for the fastest-ever-showing of symptoms.
I’m Heather Laura Clarke. I’m a writer living in beautiful Nova Scotia, I have a 12-year-old son and a 10-year-old daughter, I married my high school sweetheart, and this is the story of my handmade life.
I have depression and anxiety, and I fight like hell every day to keep them from taking over my life. Creating things helps.
Whether I’m writing novels, decorating a room, busting out my power tools to build furniture, getting muddy in the pottery studio, sewing clothes, or cross-stitching a swear word, I’m all about using my creativity to craft a life I love.
I’ve been writing this blog since 2009, so if you dig deep into the archives, you’ll meet a bright-eyed 25-year-old newlywed who was basically obsessed with having kids, buying a cozy house, and supporting herself full-time with her writing. (Spoiler alert: she got exactly what she wanted.)