So, I was trying to make some grape juice from concentrate. I put the can in hot water for a few minutes to soften it up – you know, to make it easier to stir. When I opened the can of now softened and juicy grape juice I, of course, sprayed it all down my front onto one of the only maternity shirts that I have. Then, while trying to get the shirt off to wash it right away (in hopes of saving it because it’s one of only three shirts that fit right now) I punched myself in the nose. Hard enough to make it bleed. Ladies and gentlemen, I am awesome.
Okay, I’m ready to talk about it. The weekend, the ups and downs, the stuff, the things. So. I believe that I’ve maybe mentioned once or twice before that I was trying to get pregnant? Right. Well. I had a pregnancy test laying around – a while back I had a late period so I took a test – I wasn’t pregnant, but they come 2 to a package so I had a spare. In the interest of being cheap I was just going to wait until it was the right time to test and then use that one. Then 2 weeks ago I got all antsy and was like “I’ll do it just for FUN! Maybe it will be positive!!” even though it was like 17 hours after I had maybe ovulated and therefore it would never in a million years be positive. It wasn’t. That’s one pregnancy test, used and gone. My rationale was that I’d already spent the money, right? And that I would purchase only one more, and it would be from one of the dollar stores (I won’t name names, in case they have spies). Only a buck. Who cares about a buck? What does a buck buy anymore? I’ve probably got a buck in change in the ashtray of my car! So I bought one, and stuffed it in my medicine cabinet, promising myself to wait until it was an appropriate time (which, in case you don’t know, is the day after your period is due – TWO WEEKS AFTER OVULATION). Then last week after being touched and poked in inappropriate places I wanted to know. I don’t know what it was about needles in my pooper that made me think “hey, NOW is a good time”, but there it is. So I did it. Yes, right after I posted this:
I think I’m going to do it Saturday morning before Jason wakes up – don’t tell him. His birthday is Sunday, but we’re celebrating on Saturday, so it’ll be a present.
It was negative. Obviously. IDIOT. It wasn’t even TIME yet! Plus, it was in the evening! Everybody knows you’re supposed to use first morning’s urine (the best urine!). DUH. That’s 2 pregnancy tests used and gone – total cost $1.00. As punishment, I decided I wasn’t allowed to test again until Sunday morning, not Saturday as originally planned. This would officially be day 29 of my cycle, the first day of a missed period (if your cycles are 28 days, mine are usually 24, but who’s counting?). As extra torture, I made myself wait until Saturday to buy another one so that I wouldn’t be tempted to use it before the morning.
Saturday night I woke from a dead sleep in the middle of the night and had only one thought “I’m pregnant” – I have no idea if I was dreaming or if God was talking to me (hey, it could happen), or if I was obsessing so much that I had convinced myself, but I just knew it. I rolled over and went back to sleep. Next morning I woke up at 5:30 as per usual. Normally I lie around for a good 10-15 minutes hoping I’ll trick myself into falling back asleep (it never ever works – either I’m too awake or I’ve got to pee or the kitties sense my consciousness and start scratching and meowwwling) but I popped right out of bed, peed in a cup, plopped a few drops in the ol’ tester and prepared to watch the magic! 3 minutes, tick, tock. It was negative. Are you fucking kidding me? NEGATIVE? My heart broke just a little. I snuck out of the room and let Jason sleep in for his birthday, and to nurse my broken heart in private for a while. And that’s another pregnancy test used and gone. Another dollar. When Jason got up I told him the news. Sigh. I had so wanted to wake him up with a “happy birthday! I’m PREGNANT!!” He blamed the still remaining nameless dollar store. They had to be crappy, right? They were only a dollar? Maybe they were expired? Maybe they were shoddy? No, I had asked the internet – they’re great! They’re wonderful! Mine was positive and my baby is sitting here next to me on the couch! I always use them, why pay more? The internet looooooved them, and the internet is always right! Suddenly a thought smacked me in the face. The back of the cheap piss test said “read test results after 3 minutes. do not read results after 10 minutes”. What? Are you kidding me? Most tests give you a written in stone minute count, READ AT EXACTLY TWO MINUTES, NO MORE NO LESS, what was up with read at 3, but not after 10? Would it change? So I did what you are never, ever supposed to do, and dug the test out of the garbage. There was an ever so faint line. Was it a between 3 and 10 minutes positive line? Or was it an after 10 minutes evaporation line? STOP FUCKING WITH ME.
I tried to tell myself that if I didn’t start my period by Tuesday I would buy a real test and take it Wednesday morning (Tuesday is payday), but I was obsessed, and I couldn’t take it. Obviously, the only appropriate reaction to the situation was to spend money that I didn’t have so that I could eat pizza flavored Doritos and Diet Wild Cherry Pepsi, and get a real effing pregnancy test from a real effing store, that I could then use in the morning. I wasn’t going to be bossed around by no cheap ass pregnancy test! Off we stormed to Safeway – home of cheap Doritos and honest pregnancy tests. I grabbed a box of name brand tests, normally 12 bucks but on sale for 10, normally 2 in a package but an extra thrown in for free! I ate lots of Doritos and a big glug of Pepsi. We watched a movie. Jason announced that it was guitar practicing time. I obsessively googled about pregnancy tests and false negatives and post 10 minute evaporation lines and then, then the justification began again. The 3rd one was free, so I could use it right? Just use it right then even though it wasn’t first morning’s urine (THE BEST URINE) and if it was negative then I’d try again in the morning. Before I even realized I was doing it I was in the bathroom, peeing in another cup, dipping another stick, watching it as the seconds rolled by. And BOY if it didn’t turn positive as soon as the pee washed over the window. I’m not kidding, it was positive by 45 seconds. I danced around watching the timer tick away, just to make sure, then rushed into the music room, plopped it down in front of soon-to-be Daddy and said HAPPY BIRTHDAY, I’M PREGNANT!!!!! I think he sputtered and stammered a bit in Hugh Grant fashion, and then said “what? how can it be negative and positive in the same day, are you sure? what’s happening, what’s going on, the earth is ending, HOW CAN THIS BE???” (author’s note: he’s not that dramatic, ever, but this is my story so shut up and listen). I explained about evaporation lines and shitty, cheap, lying pregnancy tests and said “fine, I’ll do it again in the morning if you want, just to make sure”. And I did. And it was positive again. Y’all, I’m gettin’ a baby for Christmas!
Here’s some crappy, hard to see photos, in case you were interested. Oh, and in case you were keeping track that’s a total of 5 tests taken. Obsess much?
So, Ray Ray sent me this link today, and GOD DAMN I want to eat those. Yes, judge me if you must, but seriously – is there anything better than hot, homemade, chocolate chip cookies (and that pre-made cookie dough shit you get at the grocery doesn’t count , I’m talkin’ ’bout HOMEMADE)? Yes, apparently there is! Hot, homemade, chocolate chip cookies, WITH OTHER COOKIES SHOVED INTO THEM. Cookie stuffed cookies! It’s like stuffed crust pizza, only infinitely more tasty because of all the chocolate involved.
It’s like turducken only not horrifying and vomit inducing. C’mon, who wants to eat that? Okay, I would probably try it if I was at somebody’s house and they were serving it, but let’s just say I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it has the word turd in it. Okay, here’s where I confess to something kind of gross, wherein you think to yourself “well duh, that’s why she’s fat” and I start to wonder what kind of weird shit I’m going to crave when the whole pregnancy thing kicks in: I have tried a twinkie wiener sandwich. TWINKIE. WIENER. SANDWICH.
Yes, it actually is an effing hot dog stuffed into an effing Twinkie, with some effing spray cheese on top. I didn’t dip mine in milk, however, because that’s just disgusting. See – I had this boyfriend in high school who was a big Weird Al fan… well, you get the idea. It wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever eaten, but it sort of made my teeth hurt. Speaking of fat girls, I just ate dinner and already I’m hungry. It’s like there’s not enough food in the world. Oh, P.S., if you’re just joining us, I know that the picture of me on my about page really doesn’t make me look fat, that’s because it was taken before the terrifying slide into obesity began, I just don’t want to put up a new photo because I’m horrified by myself. I haven’t been weighing myself or allowing myself to diet or obsess about food, but I’m feeling very portly. It could have something to do with hormones and/or the fact that I stopped taking my crazy pills, but seriously, I’m frickin’ Stay Puft over here. So, how do I convince my husband that instead of a cake this weekend for his birthday, he wants nutter butter stuffed, chocolate, chocolate chip cookies?
In an effort to both save money and eat more healthily (eat healthier? eat healthy? stupid English language) I’m trying to cook more often. I can cook, I’ve done it a lot, I’ve just been mostly too lazy for a while. And I live 90 seconds from a Taco Bell. I blame my weight problem on them – because I’m an American, see. Never take responsibility for your problems, blame them on somebody else. Moving on. I sort of taught myself how to cook when I was a teenager. My mom cooked dinner pretty much every night when she and dad were still married, but after that things went a little south. I love my dad, but cooking is not his forte. We had Hamburger Helper and dried out baked chicken a lot. Luckily, pizza Fridays made up for it. So one day I just thought “huh, I bet I could make something for dinner” and I found a recipe for apricot chicken. And made it. It was all right, I think. Tonight I am making skillet chicken and rice. It’s a recipe from the Campbell’s cream o’chicken label, I’ve made it many times and it’s super easy, but oddly enough it’s pretty tasty. Something about creamy, chickeny stuff is comfort food to me. I’m using peas instead of broccoli, because that’s what I have. Anybody want to come over for dinner?