It is funny how opposite life can change in just seven years. Seven years ago, I would have given my lung to miss a period and know that I was pregnant. I fell to my knees in gratitude when we found out we were pregnant with Lauren. Those few years of infertility were a miserable, awful, no good time. And it was a pathetic struggle compared to others (like my cousin Candace who did invitro twice before she got her son). When we finally figured out what was wrong with me, having kids became easy. I'd pop a clomid pill and in 1-4 months I would get pregnant. Problem solved. No need for birth control, my eggs didn't release on their own. We became foot loose and fancy free. Oh course, Morgan's miracle combustion really threw off my life plan: clomid for four and then let a miracle happen if we needed more. Of course the miracle came after 3. And I'm barely treading with four. So now I live in constant fear of getting pregnant. I actually took the mini pill while I was nursing. But now that Morgan is on the bottle, I need stronger insurance. Nance gave me some, but I can't start it till after my monthly plague ends.
Which brings me to today. I took a pregnancy test today. I'll end the suspense: it was negative. It was an over precaution, I henny-pennyed for sure. But now I can sleep in peace. Sweet relief. If I could tell my 7-year-ago self that I would be celebrating a negative today, I think it would be incomprehensible.
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