I’d like a cup of coffee now, please.

Six days ago, something happened that made me wonder if I had accidentally gotten pregnant.

When I was much younger and having a baby was unthinkable, I regularly convinced myself I was pregnant and spent a few days freaking out. I could do this in the face of steep odds; for example, if I hadn’t, you know, had sex. At one point, in college, I planned to contact the Catholic church and secretly go through the pregnancy and give birth in a convent in Europe. Why Europe, I don’t know–I guess I figured I should get a free vacation out of the deal. But after years of successful baby-avoidance, I rarely gave it a second thought.

But last week I got really suspicious, so much so that I actually changed my habits, something I’ve never done before. I haven’t been drinking and I’ve been limiting myself to one small cup of coffee for the last six days.  I keep encountering things that are normal parts of my life, but suddenly seem fraught with uncertainty and potential danger–skiing, cheese, the sauna, an afternoon latte. I feel unsure of my body.

My world is quite different now than it was in college, when I used to worry about being pregnant. I’m actually planning to try to have a kid soon, so I would probably be happy if I found out I  was pregnant. But this afternoon I’m kind of hoping that I get my period, and I’m pretty sure that the first thing I’m going to do is make a cup of coffee and then crack open the bottle of wine in the fridge and pour myself a glass or two.


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