Cloudya

This is going to be the longest week ever and it’s totally my fault. I did that. I slowed down time.

I have to wait seven days before I can take a pregnancy test. Seven mother loving days.

I’m ping-ponging back and forth. One minute I’m all, “Of course you’re pregnant Little Miss Pull-Out Method. God, did you learn nothing in Sex Ed?”

But then I think how hard it was to make a Brandon and I think, “Dude, you’re not pregnant. You’re probably just coming down with something. Which would serve you right considering the way you’ve been eating lately. I mean, chili dogs for breakfast? Who does that? Who above the age of 20 does that?”

Meanwhile I walk around rubbing my belly while Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb” plays repeatedly in my head.

Hello. Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone home?

I wrote the above a week ago and kept it in my drafts folder because I didn’t want to jinx anything.  And it worked.  I think.

I’m NOT pregnant.

Thank God, right?  I mean, two kids under the age of two?  I can’t imagine that in any scenario where I also get to keep my sanity.  Plus Brandon needs me so much right now.  And he’s still nursing, and even though I’m totally up to the challenge of eating for THREE (chili dogs anyone?) it’s not an ideal situation.

So I’m relieved.

I’m glad.

Right?