A little lie

OK, I was fibbing a little. This is my justification: I have been planning on starting this blog for a little less than a year, pretty much as soon as hypopregnia set in again after my gestational reprieve. So I was sharing some of the thought process I had at the time I was planning it. This is the little lie: I really think I may be getting better a little bit.

My method of sanity for the last two years or so has been to track my basal body temperature (the temperature my body is at before I wake up in the morning. You would be suprised to know how easy it is to take your temperature in your sleep. I completely don't remember taking mine this morning, but there was a temperature registered on the thermometer when I woke up, and I know I shook it down last night). During my pregnancy I did not track my temperature, and I did not start immediately after my daughter was born, either. (Has anyone else ever noticed that daughter and laughter look like they should rhyme, but totally don't?) I read all about nursing as ovulation suppression and knew that I fit all of the qualifications for it probably being extremely effective: nursing exclusively, baby under 6 months, feeding during the night. So I was mostly pretty sure that there probably wasn't much chance that I was pregnant for real. And I actually believed it. Mostly. I really pretty much didn't think that I was pregnant at all.

But then Willow started sleeping through the night. OK, what else do I know? I know that most women have at least one annovulatory bleeding period after they give birth before they become fertile again. That phrase "most women" is the bane of my hypopregniac existence. "Most women" means there have been exceptions. Probably I am not an exception. Statistically speaking, I probably am "most women." But maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm some women. I might be an exception. Maybe I am an exception. Actually I probably am. There's nothing that says I am not an exception. At about 5 months after I gave birth, I was convinced that I was pregnant.

I was excited about this, and a little bit sad because it would hamper plans to go to Disneyland that fall, but still, secretly, very excited. I finally started taking my temperature again, but as I was already probably a whole month into my pregnancy and I had no record of what my temperatures were like during my previous pregnancy and no books tell you what your temperature does during your pregnancy (they assume you wouldn't care, right? because you're already pregnant), I couldn't rely on my temperature readings to tell me anything of value. The only think I would have taken note of was if my temperature spiked half of a degree and stayed there for mor than a day or two--that would mean ovulation. If I ovulated, then I wasn't acutally pregnant before. But I probably am now.

This secret belief preyed on me for months. I even believed that I could maybe feel something somtimes. Was that a kick? Is she the size of a pea yet? My only salvation was the rule I made for myself before I was ever pregnant the first time, shortly after I was diagnosed with hypopregnia: I am not allowed to act as if I am pregnant unless my pregnancy is confirmed by documentable sources. This could be a pregnancy test or a temperature spike that lasts more than 18 days. In the absence of either of these, I am not allowed to let my psychosis hinder my life. My lifestyle was not one that was in any way destructive to a potentially growing fetus anyway. I don't drink, smoke, use illicit drugs, abuse legal drugs, regularly hottub, horeback ride, rock climb, or much else forbidden to expectant mothers. So I am not allowed to shirk workouts, nap all day, indulge every fatty food craving, or spend all of my day with my hand on my stomach unless I really am pregnant. That means I went to Disneyland and enjoyed all the rides I wanted (the constraints on pregnant women are really for mother comfort and park liability rather than fetal safety anyway).

Finally enough time passed during which I had been tracking my temp. to realize that I probably was not an exception. No pregnancy had started in my months of record, and if it had started before, I would now be far enough along to show to the world. I could not fool myself any longer. I was not pregnant, and I was not ovulating.

This was a strangely freeing and exhilerating observation. Even without night feedings, nursing seemed to be a pretty efficient ovulation supressant for me. In truth, I was not excited that I was not ovulating yet. We were ready to try again. But KNOWING that I was not pregnant and having no expectation of a pregnancy starting immenently freed me for the first time from the strangle hold of hypopregnia. I knew. I knew I was not pregnant.

One day a couple of months ago, I did not nurse my daughter for a day and a half on acccount of a medication I wanted to take. Just a few days later I started bleeding--an anovulatory period. Shortly after that, I had a temperature spike and a few exhilerating days of expectation, then a drop and another period. As I waited for the next uphill of the rollercoaster, my temperature started the eratic up and down I had experienced during the previous months of lactational hiatus. And after more time passed than I had had of recorded temperature between cycles before, I realized that as I went back to nursing regularly, my body went back into supression mode.

It was in that state that I finally started my blog. When I typed the last post, I actually knew that I was not pregnant. That was the lie.

However, I have since then had another anovulatory period and another temperature spike. so I am now officially 3 or 5 days into my next prengancy. It feels absurdly wonderful to be back on this bucking bronco of my mind.