I mean, of course, I’m not pregnant. I’m still breastfeeding, I’ve got an IUD, and let’s be blunt, I have three small kids – I don’t have sex anywhere near as often as I’d like to.
But I’m late – which, again, because of breastfeeding and the IUD, is totally normal and to be expected. It doesn’t take really any symptoms for me to assume that I’m pregnant. As Marc says, I’ve successfully predicted forty seven of my last three pregnancies.
So I took the test, knowing that I was probably not. Knowing that it wasn’t the right time, that Julianna is barely a year old. Knowing that this isn’t planned, knowing that I wasn’t even sure that wanted to get pregnant again. Four kids? Three is a LOT harder than two – and I’ve got two step children on top of my own three. Six kids – that’s just insane. I know that. Julie’s pregnancy was miserable, and nursing her has been harder than the other two kids combined.
So why did I burst into tears when the test was negative?
Turns out that maybe I do really, really want another baby. Not today, not right now – but oh yeah, I absolutely want to do this again. And thank God I’ve got Marc – because he put his arms around me, wiped the tears off my cheeks, and told me that he’d love to have another baby with me.
So we’ll wait, because that’s the sensible, smart thing to do. Julie is still so little – and I really don’t want to rush her toddlerhood. But there’s nothing like finding out that you’re not pregnant to really clarify how much you really, really want to be.
1 pings