It’s a phrase inevitably whispered, two words to strike fear and hope and the embodiment of ambivalence: “I’m late.” It simply must be whispered, voice low but weighty, urgent, breathy, breathlessly.
But WordPress doesn’t do “whisper”, so: I’m late.
…to blog about my period. Two whole days. I know, you’re shocked and disappointed in me that I didn’t keep you up-to-the-minute on the status of my uterus. (…or that I’d yank your chain like that.) What can I say, it’s the holidays. (…and I’m slightly evil.)
Once again, I am definitely not pregnant. And I’m still very not ambivalent about that: we are still very much trying to avoid conception. But… it no longer feels like an impossibility. Having another child is still definitely not an inevitability, either, but I can picture it now, where once the idea left me wide-eyed and wondering where the nearest Planned Parenthood was.
This where I pause to say: Dear family and friends, I will consider the next person to ask me when we’re having another to be volunteering to pay for that child’s education from ages 2-22. We’re thinking private school, followed by small liberal arts college. Out of state. Any of you have anything you’d like to say now? …I thought not.
Right, back to the topic: at which point I decide that I’ve had too many cookies tonight (and we’re baking more tomorrow!), and direct you to Hobo Mama, wherein she discusses many of the various sides for and against having a second-and-would-be-last child, in a way I’m simply too sugar-dosed and sleepy (and crampy and blood-loss-y) to manage right now.
And PS: I apologize. I promise to never again fake a possible-pregnancy maybe-announcement ever. I swear on a stack of cloth pads. Cross my womb and hope to bleed for a month. Honest.