What I have had are headaches. Not terrible migraines just achy pains. So I turned to Dr. Google in my desperation. And guess what? Yep, headaches are a symptom of pregnancy particularly in the first trimester. Oh Dr. Google! Thanks for getting my hopes up. Is it me or is everything a symptom of pregnancy according to Dr. Google?
So thanks to Dr. G I have nearly convinced myself that Friday's pee stick was just plain wrong and since AF is taking her sweet time to get here... maybe, just maybe.. the hope isn't over yet? But waiting for AF to arrive is a form of cruel and unusual punishment. I was wondering how many times a day you can check your knickers before you are declared officially insane?
I plan to wait one more day. I will give AF one more day to get here before I POAS again. I figure this way I'll feel less stupid than if I POAS tomorrow morning and then AF arrives minutes later. It's happened before after all. So come on AF either get here or leave me alone! I fear the insanity has already set in...
No, I'm not just saying that cos I looked in my pants 20 times today, or inspected the toilet paper with the suspicion of Hercule Poirot. No. I fear for my sanity because of a series of events that took place last night. A series of events that should have me nominated for a Darwin Award.
Let me explain. I have a beautiful white cotton dress a friend of mine gave to me for my birthday. It is from her shop and was actually designed by her and it is simply stunning. I love wearing it, it makes me feel beautiful. So last night I was wearing said dress. We were preparing our evening meal and I was bringing the food out to the table. I had a jug of strawberry and mango smoothie in one hand and a bowl of pesto in the other. But. I did not see the pool of water on the kitchen floor that had been slowly amassing due to a faulty air conditioner. I slipped and slammed into the kitchen door. The strawberry and mango smoothie landed in my hair and began dripping down my face and into my eyes and all over my pristine white dress. The pesto was running down my arm and had splattered on to my dress which now looked like it had been painted by Jackson Pollock.
I screamed at Mr. T to help me get the dress off (having been blinded by the smoothie I couldn't see a damn thing) and then I ran to the bathroom and threw the dress in the sink. I desperately washed off the red and the green slime and wiped the smoothie out of my eyes. I turned around with the sopping dress in my hands and ran to the washing machine. Now here's the thing about washing machines in Morocco. They're not earthed. None of them. (One of my friends has a particularly handy husband and he earthed their washing machine himself, but neither me or Mr. T are that handy.) This means that every time you touch the washing machine while it's plugged in you get a sharp shock. My usual routine is to turn off the washing machine at the wall, load it, set it, and then turn it back on. But this time all I could think about was my stunning white dress and how beautiful it made me feel and that I might lose it forever. I shoved it in the washing machine without thinking and I think the metal clasp must have made contact with the metal drum inside and YEOOOOOOW F@*K!
I ran to turn it off at the wall and in my haste stepped in the cat food sending it and myself splaying across the kitchen. I stopped. I looked at the cat food scattered across the kitchen floor Mr. T has just cleaned. I looked up at Mr. T and started to cry. There I was, naked, with strawberry smoothie in my hair running down my face, pesto down my arm, cat food on my feet, still reeling from the electric shock. So much for our romantic dinner. But seriously? How much of a clutz can one person be, in such a short space of time? I fear it is the TTC/waiting for AF madness taking hold. I think I better find out what's going on in this uterus of mine soon, or else there's no telling what might happen next.
