Like a fog, I’m just going to walk into this post and hope I come out at the other side in the right place.
******
One beginning of the story is with my vomiting last Friday night, all night, and then sleeping all the following day, desperate to recoup enough in time to make an appearance at my friend’s surprise 30th birthday party. And we did, and I sat there nursing punch all night, in a chair, barely able to move, as wan as a character in a bad Regency novel. I crashed before the kids did, and we left before I made a mess over my friend’s brand new pink flamingo garden ornament.
My friend rang the following day to check up on me.
“You’re not pregnant are you?”
“No. Why?”
“That’s what everyone was guessing last night. Because you were so pale…and, you know, throwing up.”
“I’m not.”
“You would tell me wouldn’t you?”
“I get the distinct impression you don’t believe me.”
When I recounted this conversation with my husband, I didn’t expect his shrug. “Someone else asked me that too.”
******
Two weeks ago
My sister-in-law has a new Wii fit. Curious to try out the little machine, I decided to hop on and do the real age test. After a series of dramatic contortions the game spat back the results: that this 30 year old is actually harbouring a 34 year old inside; worse, my weight was 1.5 kilograms heavier than I’d mentally supposed.
I groaned and my brother-in-law, who was watching from his couch, laughed.
Then his laugh ended, he stood up, and walked out. He didn’t really care.
But I’m still groaning.
******
On Monday, Adam arrived home from work at 2.45pm, ran to the bathroom, and stayed in there for the rest of the night. His contracting whatever gastro-bug I’d had was – I’m mildly happy to report – a bit of a relief. It surely meant that was all I’d had, that there was no possible way I could be pregnant, even though I was menstruating when I was sick. It’s not as though I absolutely, unequivocally, don’t want to be pregnant. I haven’t decided if my child bearing days are over. But it would be madness to get pregnant right now.
Why?
Because even though I swore we would be organised down to each synchronised breath this year, we haven’t been back for two weeks yet and things have fallen into old, bad patterns. We’ve already eaten takeaway. The kids rooms are catastrophic. And already I’m tired enough to fall victim to bugs, and so has my husband.
So we live in the moment this week. Our goals and plans fall away in our pursuit for sleep, and I fill in book orders, happy to do it, but also wanting more at the same time.
Soon.
I hope. With some work.
