Disclaimer–girly talk to follow:
I got my cycle back a couple of months ago after being in a state of amenorrhea since Baby Boy’s birth. My cycle has always been like clockwork, and when it came back, everything was just the same as before–same duration of my period, same number of days in a cycle, etc. But this month my period didn’t come (and still hasn’t). So yesterday I thought I’d better take a trip to Ye Olde Dollar Store for a pregnancy test (I’m so glad I finally read on someone’s blog about dollar stores having reliable pregnancy tests, so now I don’t have to blow $8 on one from the drugstore).
I’ve been to a dollar store before where the pregnancy tests were right where they should have been in the health and beauty aisle. But this time I’m at a different store. I wander pretty much all over the store two or three times and don’t see any pregnancy tests (did I mention that I’m trying to hurry because Hubby called while I was on my way into the store and wants me to pick him up, plus, I’m lugging my hefty 20-pound Baby Boy around in my arms because I forgot the Ergo at home). So I approach a grumpy-looking clerk in the middle of the store who is ripping boxes open. “Do you carry pregnancy tests?” I ask, wondering if she’s thinking why on earth I need a pregnancy test when I already have a young baby, a question that I’ll admit has entered my mind as well (not that I wouldn’t love another baby, but, you know . . . a little more time between kiddos would be nice).
Without so much as a hint of a smile, she glares at me and says, “We keep them up at the front of the store, at register 1.” I go to register 1, expecting that the tests are in a locked case or something and the register 1 clerk will get out what I need and ring me up. Except there is no register 1 clerk (in fact, none of the registers are open–the aforementioned clerk seems to be the only employee in the store). The tests hang on hooks high up on the wall, just out of my reach. I return to the clerk and say, “I can’t reach the tests.” She sighs, rolls her eyes, and says, “All right, I’ll have to climb up on the counter.” I follow her back to register one, where she gets up on the counter. “Um, could you grab three?” I ask. She hands them to me. I thank her and smile. Her lip twitches slightly in acknowledgment.
I get in line. By this time, my back and arms are aching. There are a couple of people in line, but they graciously tell me to go ahead of them. I thank them repeatedly.
Then it’s off to pick up Hubby, who is in the Urgent Care waiting room. He hit his forehead on a drawer at work, and the on-site nurse told him he should get the wound glued to reduce the likelihood of scarring. We agreed that we didn’t want Baby Boy around ill people in the waiting room, so I did my errands while Hubby found out how long the wait would be. We have long enough to get a quick lunch, so we go through the drive-through of Carl’s Jr. Now, keep in mind, we do not eat fast food very often at all, and after this experience, it will be a long time until I’m ready to try it again. Hubby orders a chicken sandwich, and I order a Guacamole Bacon Burger (now I know that guacamole does not belong with burgers). We finish giving our order through the speaker, then pull forward to the window. There is zero wait; they immediately hand us our food in a bag (am I the only one disturbed when it takes no time at all to prepare fast food? I guess they just had it already sitting around…ew). My sandwich comes in a box with a label that reads, “Friday.” This is Tuesday! What is that supposed to mean? (Maybe I don’t want to know.) I force myself to eat as much as I can of the lukewarm, dry-pattied burger (after all, it did cost six dollars!). I feel so disgusting when I come home that I eat a bunch of fruit, some plain yogurt, and an oatmeal muffin, as if those foods could cancel out eating the burger.
By the way, if you’re wondering, I took a pregnancy test yesterday and one this morning, and they were both negative. My hypothesis is that I kicked my body back into amenorrhea because I’ve been letting Baby Boy sleep with me in bed almost the whole night and nursing him frequently, for better or for worse.
Oh, one more thing: I went through all my old posts and changed names to “Hubby” and “Baby Boy,” removed locations, etc. This is just for the safety and privacy of my family. If you are a long-time reader, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t use their real names. Thanks a lot! Otherwise, I will have to switch to moderating comments.