Hope is the thing with feathers


and I have a love-hate relationship with it, currently.

So, real talk. About four weeks after my D&C I was fed up with actively trying to prevent pregnancy just so I could wait for my “normal” period to show up and confirm that my body knew I wasn’t pregnant. So I bought a pregnancy test and an ovulation test. Pregnancy test was negative (no shock there), but told me what I needed to know — my body was pretty damn aware it was not with child. Yay, biology. Ovulation test told me I likely wasn’t ovulating (or at least near my “peak” egg dropping time). As such, I figured it couldn’t hurt to flip the contraceptives the bird and just have sex au naturale. And even though we weren’t trying, it still felt hopeful that we weren’t actively trying to prevent it. I’m pretty sure I’ve probably mentioned this before. This was about two weeks ago, and between then and now I had my period, yada yada.

But today, I bought another pregnancy test. Because for the past few days, I’ve been having these symptoms that were uncannily similar to those I had when I got pregnant the first time: random, quick moments of nausea, being so tired that my husband’s epic snoring didn’t massively disrupt my sleep cycle, having to pee ALL THE TIME even though I wasn’t drinking any more liquid than usual… The first time I didn’t know that they were symptoms until I missed my period (seriously, I thought the increased bladder activity didn’t happen until the 2nd or 3rd trimester), but now I know.

And though I knew, logically, because I’m often ridiculously pragmatic, that the chance that I was actually pregnant again was next to nil, I still bought the test on the chance that I was. Because if I was but talked myself into thinking I wasn’t because I didn’t want to sound like a hysterical-pregnancy-because-I-want-it-so-badly woman, and then I did something like got drunk this weekend and hurt it, I would never forgive myself.

So even though logically, pragmatically, I knew the tests would be negative, I allowed myself to hope. Because what if I was? What if the universe decided to just give us a fucking break? What if my body did what it was supposed to do this time?

Hope is the thing with feathers.

And it flew away when both tests, predictably, came back negative. And I told myself, well, at least you know for sure. And then I got mad at myself for hoping, and started crying angry tears. And then I got sad that I had to hope in the first place, and cried a little more.


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