At a Loss for Nothing

This month I had the slightest suspicion that I could have been pregnant. Now, we are not actively trying but it's been about a year and a half since I've been off the pill. We are not using condoms either. And we haven't gotten pregnant. It makes me worry that there could be a problem with infertility. I have a very big worry about that since we are thinking that maybe, in a year or two, we'll have a child together. I repeat, I am seriously concerned about our fertility. Yes, I know I got knocked up at seventeen and nineteen with buttery ease but now I'm pushing thirty and I'm using a different penis. Yes, I know that Mike is one of 7 children and fertility doesn't so much seem an issue in his genetic makeup. But, I'm curious as to why no pregnancies. Perhaps our sheepish attempts at the infamous coitus interruptus are just outstanding.

This month, I began the traditional boob hurting of PMS a full week earlier than usual. I was exhausted, getting light-headed, cranky (more than usual, okay), and had a slew of interesting problems. We wondered if I was pregnant. I normally have about three days of PMS enjoyment where I sport porn star boobs. Seven days of it made me a touch curious. I tend to deflate back to sagging mama boobs before I start my period. Nope, not this time. I actually bled just ever so slightly on the day I would have started. Next day was the same. Took pregnancy test...negative.

Now, when I was seventeen and pregnant with Daniel, I had nine negative tests. Even the Planned Parenthood test was negative. But oh yes, I was definitely pregnant with Daniel since well, he's 10 now. So, as far as tests go, I'm not always so trusting when I see a negative. When I was pregnant with Brett, I denied it. Completely. I was fucking fine, allright! I was in a deep, dark depression and absolutely hated my cheating (now ex) husband so there was no way I was pregnant. NO. FUCKING. WAY. However, at much goading from others, I finally took an at home pregnancy test. I was pregnant. That stick lit up like a Christmas tree to make sure I could see how pregnant I was. Five months pregnant, according to the OB/GYN. I felt the kicking the very next week.

This time, I took the negative with a grain of salt and waited. Early this morning, another negative. Just to clarify for me though, my body has taken to finally deflating the porn boobs and allowed for regular period-ness. For the first time, I am not immensely relieved at a negative test. But then again, I'm not a teenager this time. And I am crushed.

I shouldn't be upset. This really isn't the right time. I just graduated from drag school and I'm in the process of beginning my career. And that career is taking off in ways I couldn't have predicted. I'm researching, curating, and adjuncting in art history. I love it. I love my work. I would like to continue doing it for a while instead of quitting right off the starting blocks to breed.

Someday soon, we'll actively try and I hope this time of "less productivity than one would imagine on the Catholic method" is simply a fluke and not the harbinger of infertility issues. I am sort of mourning, but alas, it was much ado about nothing.