My period is late. It’s never late. Do I dare hope? Two days late is a lot for me. I want to take a test and I don’t. I’m scared of more disappointment. Yes, the result will be the same whether I take the test or not, but it’s nice hoping. It’s also stressful. Every time I go to the loo (I’m British remember!) there is that moment of dread. Is my dream over? And then relief … not yet. Finally I can stand it no longer. I’m working from home so I use my lunch break to cycle to the store to buy a pregnancy test.
The sun is shining and I’m hopeful, praying to God the whole ride. Counting the months to see when the baby would be due, if I am actually finally pregnant. Relieved that (if anything then works out) I would be pregnant both in September (when our IVF baby would have been due) and over Christmas so that last year’s painful memories wouldn’t be so bad. Finally I’m home. Should I wait until my husband gets back? Probably, but this not knowing is killing me. I take the test to the bathroom and check quickly to see if my period’s come so that I don’t waste another test. Really? Really God? You get my hopes up this much just to crash them down. Tears fill my eyes. Not again. Why? Can’t we have a breakthrough. It’s just not fair. Not fair at all. I throw the tests into the back of the cupboard. At least I didn’t open it I guess.