The morning started off fine. Shortly after 5am Meg woke up and asked if she could take the pregnancy test (she really had to go to the bathroom) We took the dogs out and waited to see if two lines would appear. Sadly, there was only one. We went back to sleep for an hour, but I couldn't shut my mind off.
Naturally, I couldn't help but think that it was still too early and that maybe Meg just hadn't produced enough Hcg for the test to detect. I must have looked at the test strip at least 5 times (after throwing it away) Reality started to set in...
It didn't work. I started to think that the odds of us getting a positive on tomorrows blood test are about as good as me winning the lottery (when I don't buy a ticket). I'm not proud to admit this, but this prompted me to provoke an argument. I couldn't stop myself. I said things I didn't even know I was feeling. Worse, I said things I didn't even mean (like "I don't care if you're pregnant") Of course I care. It's why I got so upset.
Meg left for work and I felt terrible.
I took a ride to see her on her lunch break (and to apologize in person). On the way home I found a cd I made for our 5 year anniversary. As I listened to all of the songs that reminded me of Meg, I started to cry (not because I felt sad, but because I realized how fortunate I truly am)
The truth is that I underestimated the emotional toll TTC (trying to conceive) would put on my body (and my heart). Instead of spending time with Meg and talking about how frustrated I was becoming, I spent countless hours on the computer researching and analyzing symptoms.
While it helped to read the stories of women who got BFP, I've now come to the conclusion that unless you see two pink lines, it's not a sign of pregnancy. Convinced we will be facing another TWW in August, I'm making a promise to myself (and to Megan) to live in the moment and not worry about every little "symptom."
Come what may...