Three days before my period is due and I feel that warm sensation in my belly that always inevitably turns into cramps. Any hope I had when I felt wetness, when I looked it up and learned it could be a sign of pregnancy, when I was so sure we had perfectly timed everything this cycle—is washed away with one cramp. I feel defeated and sad, like my body is working against me. I feel old and shattered and wonder if this is the end of my chance to bring another life into our family. I feel selfish because I already made one life and she is a blessed, gorgeous life that I don’t even deserve. I should just be happy because so many women don’t get an opportunity to create one life. Who says two or three or four lives are superior to one? Who decided that?
Part I of my blood has already been given away to the gyno and I’ve been instructed to return on the 21st day of my cycle to give away Part II.
A Luteal Phase Defect.
What a beautiful name for a stupid thing.
All of a sudden, I am the moon, or a portion of it? A crumb? My limp body is being pulled and poked by its highness the moon, like a submissive tide? The moon isn’t supposed to get things wrong. It isn’t supposed to only provide 8 days in between ovulation and menstruation. That, my friends, isn’t enough time to conceive.
In every place on planet Earth, you’re considered young, gyno told me when I visited her a few months ago. Except here.
Remind me why I didn’t have children when I was 24? Oh yeah, that apartment in Williamsburg was pretty, pretty fun, that’s why.
Remember how when I was 13 and all the other girls had their periods, I desperately wanted you to come? How I wanted you to bring your snobby friends–breasts and curves– with you and how they refused to grace me with their presence until I was 16 and the novelty of boobs and curves had worn off? Remember how I lied to Josephine and told her I got you about a year before I actually did and how I even crumbled that pink maxi pad paper in my wastebasket before she came over so I could prove to her that I wasn’t lying? Yeah, that was pretty psychotic.
But you didn’t answer my prayers. You came when you felt good and ready and consequently, while the other girls were being “felt up,” I would only go as far as kissing because I had nothing to feel up (so I guess that’s a good thing and I owe you one..but I feel I’ve reciprocated enough by enduring years of cramps and by making Mr. Midol just a little bit more wealthy. What have you done for me lately?)
And now here I am approaching 35. I understand where you are coming from—you’re tired and bored with me. You gave me one beautiful, healthy child. Don’t be greedy, you seem to be saying. Perhaps you are teaching me crucial life lessons?
Well, ain’t no one got time for that. I demand that you stop psyching me out each month by providing pregnancy-like symptoms and teeny spots that cause me to run and Google that mythical thing everyone calls “implantation bleeding” on the 22nd day of each of my cycles.
A second baby fits into my life plan right now. Not in one year, and certainly not in two. Get with the program, Period.
Not Pregnant (Again) This Month