(Bear with me here, it’s coming.)
Here’s the thing about the two-week wait: even if you’re as practical as they come in everyday life, this period of time can take your logical bent and stomp it to shreds.
What fuels your two-week wait? Hope. And hope is a cruel mistress who likes to push your buttons. Even with all rational thought at your disposal, she’ll sneak in and whisper in your ear that everything could turn out just the way you want it. It could.
Logically, I know I can’t know anything until 12DPO. Even if I spot at 10DPO this time around, I know that, in this TTC crapshoot, anything can happen. There’s always a story from one person that shows you how circumstances can align to give you the most inconceivable conception ever. You’ll google the hell out of and it’ll come back at you: “Yes, I was a chronic spotter and I still spotted when I got my BFP!” “Yes, I had weird cramps at 4 and 5DPO the month I got my BFP!” “Yes, I had every symptom I had every single month, nothing was different!” “Yes, every single symptom was different, I just knew for sure this was it!”
And on the sick cycle carousel goes.
So yeah, that’s where I am at 8DPO. Googling idiotic things and reading old Fertility Friend notes. Telling myself one minute that I’m in it to win it, the next that there’s nothing to indicate I’ll ever hit the bull’s eye in this game. It’s right around this time I start feeling like this, too, though I admit my weekend cramping had me all in a tizzy:
Me: It almost feels like I’m getting my period.
Husband: That’d be super early.
Me: Or maybe it’s Baby Writer snuggling into my uterine wall.
Husband: Maybe. But try not to read into this, enjoy your damn birthday!
(So level-headed, that man.)
Okay, so here we go. Yes, this two-week wait has officially infiltrated my brain like the ice worms from the X-Files episode Ice. It’s making me as crazy as Felicity Huffman was in the final act. Until another worm (period or BFP) shows up to fight this one already in my system, I’m stuck swinging between great hope and steeling myself for disappointment.
(Told you it was coming.)
Being on cycle 16, I should know better. But damn you, two-week wait. Damn you straight to hell.