So, the hubs and I have been unofficially trying, aka “not trying” for the last several months after the late period/possible miscarriage because it hurt me pretty bad and we were running low on funds. Well, now that the hubs has a job (and one that will transfer with us when we head out of here for colder winters) and we’re gonna start trying again. Well, I was late again. Two days short of two weeks late. I was getting excited and trying not to, again. I was going to wait until I reached that two-week mark to take the home pregnancy test. See, most women I know/know of who are TTC (that’s Trying To Conceive for those of you new here) test constantly. They need to see that test saying yes or no. For me, getting the no is a huge let down. After being told before my 21st birthday that there is a possibility that I’ll never be able to carry children, my biggest fear has been just that. So, I always try to take the easy way by waiting for my period to show up rather than rushing to a HPT to tell me no. It’s cowardly. But, it gets me through.
And once again, it seems I am justified. Because yesterday, I started to bleed. Nothing heavy. Nothing like a real period, but it’s been going on for two days now. So I feel like that is hope out the window. But, because I’m also a bit stubborn, if it doesn’t get any heavier and stops within the five-day range, I’m still going to take the test. It’s crazy, but I was so hoping that I could tell my Momma by Christmas that she was gonna be a Gammy. Part of it is silly (but then, most of us get silly when it comes to becoming parents, I think) but my Momma had me before her 26th birthday. If I were to get pregnant this time (be pregnant now), I would give birth right around my 26th birthday. I don’t want to be an old mom, and now I’m terribly afraid I’m setting myself up for just that. If this really is my period, this will mark month seven. God and Goddess, convince me I’m not really a failure.
Gotta hold on and keep the faith that this is right and that all things will work out in the end. Besides, I have another five months before I would even begin being part of the “possible fertility problems” group. Right? Right.