Call me paranoid. I'm completely aware I may be the only one with this particular personality quirk. But seriously, I keep at least three pregnancy tests in my medicine cabinet at all times. At least once a month some little thing will make me think "oh, crap. I'm pregnant." I've been like this forever... crazy, that is. I am not a fan of surprises. And I am so done having kids. So done, I tell you. (you hear me?!) The thought of a little "surprise" makes me break out in a cold sweat. No! I won't go back to formula! And late night feedings! I won't do it!
And sure, I'm neurotic. That's just a given, right? It just really doesn't help when I tell doctors the random symptoms I am perennially experiencing, (I have crazy medical issues anyway) every single doc will start with "Are you sure you're not pregnant?" What kind of a sick, twisted question is that?! Do they not see the twins quarreling over toys in the corner, and the lil' baby in the stroller?! No, doc. You'd have a certifiable loon on your hands if that were the case.
It's not just the prospect of another baby that scares the pancakes out of me. No. It's the fact that I already have twins. One baby would be enough of a catastrophe in my warped mind- but two?! I've lived that, I know full well it can happen- and while I love those girls to the moon- I am in no way capable of doing all that again. Multiples really put things into perspective! I was not kidding around when I found out I was expecting Little Man. I had that nurse SCOUR my uterus to make absolutely sure there was just a single resident in there.
Basically, I have to pee in the cup every time for the doctor to assure them that no- not pregnant. Have other problems- go diagnose accordingly. Nevertheless, it gets me all paranoid again. I watch that "I didn't know I was pregnant" show- I would like to think I would never be one of those women... but I'm not brave enough to find out. Every negative pregnancy test is the start of a good morning. Without that little crutch I'm positive I would "what if" my way to insanity. I'm already pretty nutty. The Husband has learned to just ignore my little pregnancy scare episodes. He'll usually throw a firm "you're not pregnant, crazy lady" my way, just for good measure just to make sure he "did something" about the situation.
So I pack away the pregnancy tests. I know it's really odd. I hate buying them, I see the cashier scan it up... and there's judgement. Like, really?! Perhaps you should just deal with the screaming kids you already have, lady. I totally bury those little boxes in the gigantic heap of purchases. Never would I waltz into Target and toss a preggo test on the belt solo. I at least have my dignity. Well, now I don't even have that do I, internet?
I'd like to think that doing something a little more permanent would help. And while we're working on that... I have yet to find a doctor that will guarantee any method a 100% chance of not getting knocked up. Sure, 99.9% is pretty good. However, we all know I would be stressing about that .1%, yes? Yep! That .1% will haunt my dreams for sure.
Post a Comment