**Warning: This post is full of TMI. If you don’t have any interest in the inner workings of my uterus or my (slightly deranged) mind, please stop reading now, while you’re still safe.**
That said, my body seems to have gone completely psycho.
This almost never happens.
When it does, I tend to go completely psycho with it.
Let me lay it all out for you. A few weeks ago, at 8 weeks postpartum, I accidently discovered that I was ovulating.
What the Hey Zeus?!
This doesn’t make any sense. I exclusively breastfeed. I should be enjoying the privilege of lactational amenorrhea. I shouldn’t be anywhere near fertile right now.
Except for the fact that my body always seems to want to start the baby factory up and running right after I give birth. My uterus is operating under the assumption that it is responsible for repopulating the entire planet. With my first two sons, I was back to my regularly scheduled program of cycling at three months postpartum. Again while exclusively breastfeeding.
That pretty much shoots the nursing-as-a-form-of-birth-control theory right out the window for me.
This time I got cheated out of a whole month. Once I knew that I had ovulated, I found myself in a nervous and panicky unexpected two week wait. What if I was pregnant? What if I wasn’t?
Of course, getting pregnant again and having two babies who would very likely be born in the same year is not an ideal plan for our family right now. After the dire warnings against another pregnancy in the near future and a clear push for medically prescribed contraceptives, I am absolutely positive that my OB/GYN would bitch slap me immediately upon arriving at his office for my first prenatal appointment. I’m equally certain that my parents and in-laws would start treating me and my husband like irresponsible, stupid little teenagers. The Duggar references would only get worse.
And I’m pretty sure that my husband would probably die of shock.
I know what you’re thinking…what about the pill?
I was waiting for my first postpartum cycle to start it. The thought behind this was that I wasn’t going to start regulating something that wasn’t there to regulate if I didn’t have to.
I was really in no hurry to start up a period before it’s time.
I was also thinking chances were pretty slim that anything would actually happen before that first cycle hit.
Besides, we were no where near the ten month mark.
ha. I’m a little naive like that sometimes.
I started to get nervous when two whole weeks passed after the positive OPK and AF hadn’t shown up.
So I tested. BFN.
I squinted. Looked at the test every which way, under every type of light.
There was only one line. ridiculously negative.
Then the next day came, but AF didn’t. I tested again. Just to be sure.
And that’s when I saw it. The faintest of faint lines.
Later that same night, I started spotting.
Another morning. Another test. Another barely there line.
Then I had two days that hovered between spotting and the lightest period I’ve ever had in my entire life.
Tested again. Back to the BFN.
In retrospect, there is a possibility that what I saw may have just been evaporation lines.
Then again, I’m afraid it could also have been a chemical pregnancy.
But here is the weird thing…as relieved as I am that I am not pregnant right now, I also can’t help feeling the least bit broken hearted.
It may be that I am suffering from Octomom Syndrome.
Because even though I just had a baby, I am already obsessing about having the next.
One… or Two.
Which is completely insane, especially since I think that woman (and her doctor) are complete whack jobs.
I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’ve wanted to punch in her fakey Angelina Jolie face on more than one occasion.
And while I haven’t been taking money out of my existing children’s mouths for IVF treatments, I may have been planning out the details of how Matt and I will be TTC our future babies in my head.
That’s got to be crazy, right?
I mean, come on, lady! Give the incubator a chance to cool down already!
The logical side of me has agreed with my husband that we will hold off on adding to the family until the kids are all in school. Ideally, about five years from now.
Although, the Nadia Suleman side of me thinks tomorrow would be a good time to hop back on the baby-making train.
If my husband knew about that side, he’d skip his morning meeting tomorrow and head straight to the doctor’s office for a vasectomy.
And there is no way I’m going to let that go down.
I guess that means I better break out those pills already.