Eggs over easy

Today, 9.30am:

I am hit by the incredibly obvious revelation for the day. If we're really stopping at two kids, then we're done with having babies. That phase of our lives, which was so all-consuming, so entirely absorbing, so eternally life-changing, that required special furniture, special adaptation of everything, right down to where I keep things in in the kitchen (nothing dangerous, spillable, or breakable low down), is behind us.

You put the high chair in the basement and you think, "Hooray, more space in the kitchen." But you don't think "That's it. Those years are over, and everyone was right, they were so short. And who am I now?" until later. Like, until today.

Today, 11.45am:

Looking around the cafe in IKEA, I start to say to myself that I really want another baby. Then I catch myself in time. "I really ... must be ovulating." Yup.

Pudding, proof

The acid test of any decision not to get pregnant again just now/ever is, of course, the pregnancy scare. Even when it's mostly hypothetical and you know that any actual recent union of sperm and egg would have been a miracle of near-Biblical proportions, it functions quite well as an indicator of how you really feel, as opposed to how you think you feel.

A friend of mine went through such a thing recently, with the happy result that now she has decided that her heretofore definitely-going-to-be-an-only child might just end up being a big sister. And lo, my own chance to subject myself to the delights of mental self-examination just happened in the last week or so.

I was pretty sure I was, in fact, finally ovulating again, when I got a big zit beside my nose. This, coupled with the fact that nursing was suddenly quite painful for a few days, made me think that maybe my lovely hiatus from the monthly red deluge was about to come to an end. But then, there were a couple of other factors that made me go Hmmm: there was that one day when I was having sort of dizzy spells in Target (that was fun), and the way my blood sugar kept plummetting between meals, leaving me wobbly and frantically rushing home to raid the fridge for some protein - and most damning of all, perhaps, if I wanted to read into it - the fact that I keep smelling woodsmoke from our wood-burning stove in the family room When Nobody Else Can. Hello bionic sense of smell, I remember you from the days when I could tell that someone had opened the fridge in the kitchen at work. (Ah, work. I remember that too.)

While I knew (89% sure, say) that I wasn't really pregnant, it was an interesting mental exercise to wonder if I might be. I truly, honestly, didn't want to be. Apart from that little bit of me that always likes the extra attention a pregnant woman gets, the thought of doing it all again, right now, and the stress it would put on us as a family, a couple, an already-nursing-to-my-limit pair of boobs - nope, I just didn't want to go there. While the temptation to roll again and see what you get is always present, well, for one thing I haven't been taking my folic acid, and for another, you have to call a halt some time. I had easy pregnancies, and I hate period pain, but there are other solutions, y'know.

The proof of the pudding doesn't come till the dice have actually fallen (allow me to mix a few metaphors here), and I was truly contemplating buying a pregnancy test just to be sure to be sure, but today things were confirmed pretty definitely by an achy feeling in my lower abdomen and a blush of pink on the toilet paper. And so, after 28 and a half months off, my body begins to cycle again. Last time this happened I put up with all of three periods with a bad grace before delightedly getting pregnant again. This time I'm hoping to work out a less drastic response.

Happy and zen

There's nothing like a day of being crampy and grumpy and miserable to make you appreciate only having swollen ankles. Today, I am so not-in-pain that I'm all zen and happy and barely feeling pregnant at all, and if the dilemma on whose horns I am currently poised is whether I put my feet up under my desk or sit up straight and thus am able to reach the keyboard without straining, well them's not very pointy horns.

Yesterday, I was the other thing. Grumpy and crampy with New Exciting back pain thrown in for good measure. Because the back pain was a new thing, I almost thought maybe this would be it and today I'd be in labour (and thus not have to write the blasted hurricane plan, which was certainly a consideration of a silver lining). But at about 2am this morning, suddenly it all went away and today I'm lovely and happy. And bumpy. People have stopped telling me how small I am. I don't think this is a coincidence.
Luckily, I had a midwife appointment yesterday, so I was able to not be too paranoid about the new pain. They took my blood for the "36 cultures" (no, that doesn't mean we have to stick you 36 times, it's just the 36 week thing) and I had the pelvic exam that will be a regular feature of my visits from now on. Apart from taking various swabs and confirming that my chronic yeastiness is still around (lovely, eh? no wonder nobody reads this stuff) and giving me a prescription for it, my midwife said I'm 70 percent effaced but still not dilated at all. Which is fine with me because not only will B. be away at a conference this weekend, but so will the midwife. So when she said "You're not going to be having a baby this week" there was more than a hint of the imperative in there along with the wise-woman prognostication. Fine with me, especially if I keep feeling like today more than yesterday.

That would be nice.