7 weeks, 49 short days.
Unless it's been 7 weeks since your last period. Then 7 weeks is an eternity.
Before fertility, my cycles were fairly irregular, anywhere between 5 and 6 weeks. Since Ladybug, they've been much more in sync, typically between 28 and 32 days. And suddenly nothing. I didn't think too much of it until day 40. And then I started to freak out...
You see. Child care costs roughly a million dollars. I don't have a million dollars. Not even half a million, or a quarter of a million. I did find $5 in my jacket pocket earlier in the week, but I'm pretty sure that doesn't count.
Day 43 rolled around. I start doing some calculations. I'd be due 10/28, exactly 1 week after I became eligible for FMLA. I calculated how long I'd be able to be on leave, how much extra benefits would cost, contemplated nursery options given the left over paint we have from previous projects.
|Totally doable. Well the paint. Furniture would have to materialize out of thin air|
Day 47. I can pretend no longer. I realize that I need to start taking vitamins and marvel at the fact that my ovaries decided to get their act together. I tell Jethro that I'm late (I'm like Fort Knox), he is unimpressed.
Then I do what I spent three years doing. Peeing on a stick and waiting. I stared at it for 3 minutes.
And then I did what I spent three years doing. Looked at a negative.
The best way to describe the feeling was both relief because money troubles are not fun and disappointment that my body was being wonky again.
Day 49. It arrives. No fanfare. No anything. Just back again.
And back to the doctor I go.