What was that?

5 Oct

That, my friends, was yet another vaguely un-suspicious non-symptom.

Seconds ago, while sitting at my desk, minding my own business and writing a perfectly bland story for a perfectly bland annual report, I had a wave of dizziness. A wave that I can only hope to explain as a symptom. Of that thing that I sort of tried to not think about, let alone talk about this week, that (probably) totally hasn’t even happened yet.

Next month, I’m buying ovulation predictor kits. Because not knowing EXACTLY when I drop an egg is doing my head in. Because it means that the event could have happened days ago, and I wasn’t even aware of it, making counting days to implantation very difficult and nerve-wracking for my OCD self. Or it could not have happened at all, which makes me pouncing on The Boy entirely redundant. Except for, you know, makin’ ze goooood times.

Anyway, around ovulation, as you may have guessed, I tend to go just the slightest bit crazy. Only this month I’m smart enough to remember that every symptom I experience actually has nothing to do with being pregnant. It’s to do with the fact that I’m no longer taking my happy hormones. Which means not only do I experience things like dizziness, extreme moodiness and uncontrollable tears (yes, I’m a joy to live with!), I also get things like pimples, cramps and sore boobs. Uncannily, they’re just like the symptoms you apparently get when you’re pregnant! Of course they are. Because there’s nothing that gets your hopes up more during the two-week wait than actually feeling all those crap symptoms that everyone tells you you’ll feel when you actually DO get pregnant.

If the antithesis of this is true, then I’m going to feel like a million dollars when I’m tadpoled up. It’s going to be great. Except for the fact that I’ll probably be turned into some teary mutant that’s fat, covered with pimples and craving dirt.* Pretty close to what I am now, minus the dirt.

To take my mind off things – you see how well it’s working – this week I’ve treated myself to those Babybel cheeses that were a primary school lunch box staple. Man I’ve missed those waxy balls of processed dairy. Seriously, I’d keep eating them, only thankfully I had the foresight to leave the rest of them at home. Plus, my office has glass windows and it would be quite disgusting, I’m sure, for Cheryl across the hall to watch me gorge myself on rubbery balls of cheese.

And, since The Boy and I are casually shopping around for new digs closer to civilization, I’ve booked us a hotel in the city so we can do some exploring (and scuba) this weekend. It’s almost the end of night shifts so it’s time to celebrate getting my husband back with some city lights, a pot of mussels and someone else to make the bed.

*Apparently, my mum craved dirt for a while there when she was pregnant with me. Something to do with an iron deficiency.


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