I’ve had PMS for two weeks now: cranky, hungry, moody, sore boobs, cramping, the works. I IM’d with Reni last night and she’s was a day or two late, too, and we commiserated about how bloated it feels. Neither of us thought we were late for any particular reason. I told her I’d decided to take a test this morning, ’cause there’s nothing like wasting twelve bucks to get AF to show up.
Well, I took a test this morning. And it was a big fat positive.
I was shocked. It hadn’t crossed my mind that I might be preggo. But there it is. I took the test out into the living room and handed it to Brett, who was playing video games. “I took a test to make my period start because I’m three days late. But it’s positive.”
Brett looked at it and handed it back, saying, “That’s a pretty positive positive.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I thought it was PMS.”
“Mmm,” he said. “I’m really not sure how I feel about this.”
“Me neither,” I said. “But as these things have a tendency not to stick, I don’t think either of us have to decide just yet.”
“Damn, baby,” he said.
“Ain’t that the truth,” I said as I left the room.
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Sometimes, when it’s Thursday afternoon and dull and rainy out, you need a treat.