Yesterday I worked myself up into a tizzy convincing myself I was preggo, and that the doctor’s blood test results would be immediate. I knew full well that it was premature to test, but despite my best efforts to remain logical, I allowed my imagination to take over, and I sat in the doctor’s waiting room dreaming of baby names and strollers and how I was going to tell everyone the news.
When I actually got the chance to discuss it with my doctor, she offered me a urine test… NOT the super-accurate blood test I was hoping for. Apparently they don’t take blood at that office. And apparently her urine test is no more accurate than the ones they sell at CVS (which I knew wouldn’t pick up my early pregnancy — if it exists — at this point). We tested anyway, and I was not the least bit surprised when she said the test was negative. I was surprised, however, that I wasn’t disappointed. Somehow getting the results from a doctor, sitting in an exam room by myself, was not the way I’d pictured hearing the news. Maybe a little part of me was happy that’s not how it happened. The doc and I agreed that, based on my calculations, it was very early to test. She said if I haven’t gotten my period in 5 days to test again.
Game on! I’m thinking fertile thoughts and hoping I can take a home pregnancy test next week and get the news the way I’ve always pictured it… jumping for joy in my bathroom while holding a pee-covered stick