I'm still completely mental. Writing and talking about my baby craziness didn't help as well as I thought it would. And now, just because Jerry and I had sex during my ovulation "window," I think I'm pregnant.
Never mind that the odds of that being true are next to nothing. In fact, it's about 20 percent. Actually, it might be a little less than that because I'm over 25.
I know all this because I'm crazy and keep researching random pregnancy facts online.
The odds are pretty good over a year. It increases to almost 80 or 90 percent. But if I have to go through this agony of thinking that I'm pregnant for an entire year? Not to mention treating my body like I am just in case I am? My brain will burst.
I have nothing to back up my notion other than the memories of what it was like last time. Before I actually knew, I only remember admiring my slightly larger boobs and feeling tired, but that's about it.
So now, with a few days left to go until I should (and will) get my period, I'm manhandling my boobs like a teenage boy who just got access to his first pair. I swear they seem bigger. Not sore, exactly, but bigger. More full.
But it's all in my head. I know it is.
The mind is a powerful thing. I think I willed my boobs bigger. And my period probably will be late because, for the first time in my entire life, I don't want it.
Then again, part of me wants the crazy battle between my head and my body to end. And if getting my period is the only thing that will stop me from feeling myself up, then so be it.
Because my boobs could probably use a break, too.