You know what I mean, the "Oh sweet baby Jesus, where's my trashcan" and then...nothing.
So, here I am stifling groans of intestinal agony, walking around the office a little green-faced. And when people notice they all say you.must.be.pregnant.
I think when you reach a certain age, any run-of-the-mill symptom is an indication of procreation. Tired? Maybe you're pregnant. Nauseous? Definitely pregnant. Throwing up? You're going to repopulate the Earth!
I should also mention one person actually broke into a cheer for me (No Lie). "You're not feeling well? Give me an S-T-O-R-K!!" I think he may have actually done a little dance. I didn't notice. I was too busy trying to run out of the room.
Part of me wanted to tell him my stork got lost! But who wants to endure the awkward aftermath of that announcement? Or worse, the unsolicited advice? So, in lieu of shaming my coworkers into humbled silence, I respond, "There's no way I'm pregnant."
So, my friends? Does this end the reproductive chatter? OH NO. No such luck. Instead, my well-meaning co-workers misinterpret my meaning as baby-phobia and begin telling me how wonderful being pregnant is and touting the wonders of parenthood. They also dismiss my statement of "No Way" and expertly say, "You never know. You could be wrong."
And here's my shame. I feel more shameful about this than about my inability to make a baby. In spite of all my knowledge- the charting, the cysts on my ovaries, all of it. I started to hope. I started to think "maybe." I let my ignorant but well-meaning coworker's words seep into my brain and plant a seed that maybe my nausea was tied to some higher purpose.
So, I came home and peed on a stick.
I'm never telling people I don't feel well again.