Every month I am forced to play a game. It’s not fun. It involves waiting. And, who likes to wait…for anything?

It goes like this.

1. I say good morning to my ovulation monitor daily. Depending on the day, it waves back or tells me to pee on a stick. It’s not a particularly friendly device. No personality, really.

2. On the GO days, Hubby and I well…go. Sometimes, it’s not the best timing. Ugh. Timing and sex. Who would have thought they could be so difficult together? But, when you’ve spent all day at work + attended a painful meeting and had a dental appointment to follow, you’re not really feeling all that “in the mood”. Call me crazy.

3. After successes in the sack, I get optimistic. (It’s what happens hormonally and all that. ) Often, I catch myself counting nine months from the date to imagine when Baby might be born. Winter baby? I worry about finding cute, warm maternity clothes. Summer baby? I wonder if it’d be hard on the kid to get friends to birthday parties when school’s out for vacation. It’s a horrible habit, I know, but it comes from a place of hope.

4. The irritability starts. (Why the hell does Hubby leave empty tea bag wrappers in the cupboard?) Also, some emotional feelings come up. (Kids run across the large stones on the river. For some reason, this makes me cry.)

5. Finally, the pimples pop up. I get this one pretty consistently in the middle of my forehead. It gets red and prominent. I call it my monthly bindi.

When this last thing happens, I know. I already do.

Yet, I will myself to believe that pregnant ladies get emotional too; their skin gets all weird (doesn’t it?), so this could be a different signal.

This is when Time gets the most annoying. In a matter of hours it can say:

Well, well,well. You’re late. Quite late! I’d say a pregnancy test is in order, miss.


Yeah, not happening this time. Better luck next month, darlin’.

So far, it’s been the latter. Like a broken clock…ticking in place for nearly four years.

I need to change that damn clock.

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