Stirring up dust

Just when you think things are settled, the wind often blows and stirs up dust again. 

That's just what happened to me.

After 9 months of still not conceiving, I'd finally gotten to a mental place where I was completely comfortable with the idea of not being a mom. So comfortable in fact, that I had applied for admission to my specialist program at the University of Alabama. I was working a 2nd job on the weekends (still am). I was dreaming of trips to Italy. I was even encouraging my husband to consider a vasectomy so that we wouldn't have to worry with the "what ifs", such as "Do I really need to drink this 3rd glass of wine? What if I'm pregnant?" I just became tired of feeling in limbo all the time, so I made a decision. No motherhood. Not for me.

I realize that 9 months is no time by most standards. In fact, most aren't considered to have issues with fertility until after a full year of trying to conceive without success. But I was working on a serious timeline, albeit self-imposed. I needed to conceive within a certain window, or not at all. And that window was closing.

It's not that I'd stopped wanting to be a mom. I'd just come to accept what seemed like my reality - I might not get to be a mom in the traditional sense. And let's face it, I've had the pleasure (not really) of dealing with lots of natural moms who quite frankly suck at it and some of whom hate it altogether. So I figured I could "mother" in other ways and probably be more successful. I've got 2 step kids who already have a mom. They don't need another, but who couldn't use another responsible adult who loves you? I've got 2 dogs that are my heart. Who would feed them and rub their bellies if not for me? Okay, my husband probably would. But speaking of my husband, who would nurture him? He's got a mom and doesn't need another, as he is so apt to tell me, but that never stops him from asking for a back scratch, favor, help cleaning, yada yada yada...some of the things that children ask of their mothers. And then there are the 450 kiddos at my school. They're enough to keep me busy for a lifetime - well, at least for the next 25 years and 92 days until I retire.

That's right. I counted.

But then something happened.

My cycle didn't show up.

Having some familiar symptoms like moodiness, pain, and skin breakouts, I didn't have the slightest belief that I was pregnant. In fact, I was certain that I was not. I had taken a pregnancy test just 2 days before "Aunt Flo" was scheduled to arrive out of concern for a medication that I was about to begin taking - Bactrim....another one of those irritating "what ifs". I had an abcess that required immediate treatment, and some small voice in my head told me I should make sure I wasn't pregnant before I took it. But with a negative test result I proceeded with confidence that I wasn't "pickling" anything.

Two weeks later the abcess was gone, but so was any sign of a period.

After a great deal of prodding from my husband, I went to the doctor. And peed in a cup - and peed on my hand....again...surprise, surprise, I know. I'm horrible at aiming into those stupid little cups.

What I had no preparation for was the crazy surprise that stupid little cup held.