Scared Out Of My Mutha Effin Gourd

The trouble with weaning is that for about three months you are in hormonal hell. You soak through your sheets, you can’t find anything to wear, and your face is seemingly one gigantic pimple. Basically so giddy, you want to punch babies. After all, they are the reason you are in this situation in the first place. Due to child abuse laws, you instead take in a steady stream of vodka and Advil while watching The Real Housewives of New York and other shows that make your husband cringe due to the vagina-ness of it all. Did I mention The Hills premiere is in five days? In the midst of all this feminine woe, there is another fact that is cause for extreme duress: the irregular period. I am clockwork when it comes to surfing the crimson wave, every twenty-eight days for four days I am out of my godforsaken mind, but luckily crippled by debilitating cramps as to not cause mayhem. I got my period the day after the complete wean (thanks God!), dutifully marking on my calendar twenty-eight days later with “Period?” Last week that popped up on my calendar reminder. Suddenly, the pimple on the side of my face taking up my entire chin made sense. There were cramps and trips to the bathroom. But nothing. Eight days later, in absolute fear of the unknown, I bought a pregnancy test. You are probably thinking how the hell could it be a pregnancy? You have two kids, you have sex? I know, stupid me. The fear of taking a pregnancy test when you have absolutely no desire whatsoever to be pregnant is a traumatic anxiety riddled event. Because of my Catholic programming, “Please God, do not let me be pregnant. Please, please, please. I can’t be pregnant, I can’t be pregnant. I can’t be pregnant.” was repeated about one hundred times. The pee and the excruciating wait later, no plus meaning no pregnancy meaning no me falling down a flight of stairs “by accident.” Happiness, it has a name - EPT Negative.