I have a confession to make.
I got on my bike for the first time in about three weeks today and took Jay to the park.
It's maybe 8ks away, I don't know...it could be 400metres, I am not good at judging distance. But suffice to say it is not a park we would normally walk to, it's too far for that. I would say honestly maybe 6ks. Round trip.
The thing is, actually two things: I am someone who likes to ride at least every second day. At least. I love it. And please don't get the wrong impression. I am not one of those crack-head lycra crazies who think nothing of travelling 40ks in one leisurely morning. Me? I don't understand that. You want to go that far? Drive your god damn car, take a Greyhound or a flippin taxi. Fossil fuels be damned, 21st century humans are not built to power themselves to travel distances of that magnitude. We are lazy, we are always looking for the easiest way out of something vaguely challenging (as long as that search does not require too much effort) or we will get someone else to do it. Oh sure, I hear you, there are plenty of humans who cycle these nutso distances regularly, people who run marathons...but if there is not an opportunity to groom egos with a latte and a calf muscle/wax job comparison at the local cafe strip or some sort of sporting trophy or medal at the end, most humans will not have a bar of it.
So when I "cycle", I am rarely going above the 10k mark, alright? Plus I usually get Jay in the kid seat in the back and, while we can't actually see each other, we are
close enough to have brilliant conversations about those colourful parrots squawking their delight at finding an untouched bit of blossom nectar, close enough to apply the brakes so we can slow down and touch that funny-looking tree or to laugh at the curly tan dog sticking his nose out of the hole in the fence as we whir merrily on by. And I absolutely love that. By the way, this, in the picture to the left, is most definitely not me. It is the antithesis of how and where I ride. But it sure does look cool, don't it?Anyway, I have been all ix-nay on the...actually ix-nay on the "excercise" doesn't really work in Pig Latin, does it? How would you say it? Ix-nay on the xercise-eay? But then you have already said excercise technically first, thereby removing the point of Pig Latin, which is to...oh, never mind. I have been told not to excercise too much so as to not raise my body temp too much during this two-week wait.
But today, I thought screw it. I missed my bike. And the other reason? The lovely weather girl had forecast rain, and the sun was shining. It is winter here...but, oh joy for our sub-tropical climate, for I put on shorts and a t-shirt, slathered some sunscreen on Jay and we biked to the park. Shorts, sunscreen...not bad for winter, hey?
But it was a calculated risk.
The road between home and the park is dead flat, although I found myself involuntarily popping my bottom up off the seat each time we went over a bump in the path, or a particularly rocky driveway: minimise uteral bouncing, minimise uteral bouncing, I repeated in my head, while imagining this tiny little foetus jiggling up and down in a liquefied slo-mo, while screwing up its miniscule face in annoyance.
Then of course, as night follows day, came the thought that nothing at all might be happening in there. There could also be no jiggling, no annoyed foetus face and no foetus at all.
What I do know is that I have been experiencing minor cramps and a general bloatedness since Friday night. I might get bloating once a month, but never cramps. They are unusual. Like little twinges coupled with a constant dull pain, although pain is too strong a word.
Of course, I can also potentially explain the bloating away. Zero excercise and let's-put-extra-away-for-the-winter eating, I am looking at you!
Now I am just hanging out for those sore boobs!! And "accidentally" flinging the freezer open really fast, and then throwing my arms back to allow my chest to absorb the full brunt of the blow is not the type of sore I am looking for! (Although I have tried...)
Who knows? Who. Knows? Seriously, do you know anyone who knows? I don't. No one I know knows. But do you? I wish you did...
A friend went overseas for three months and returned recently. She was in gay Paris when she heard I was "pregnant" the first time. (I had stupidly announced to the world that I was pregnant on the evening of my first fresh embryo transfer. It was with a massive disclaimer...but, well, we all know how that turned out.)
Anyway, before any of us knew that sad outcome, she had been prompted to find the funkiest, coolest store in Paris, which I am guessing was very difficult, and purchase a baby present for me.
By the time she got home a month or so ago, there was no baby. Yet. She gave me the present and a good idea, knowing what she did about what had happened.
"You might want to wait and open it when you are pregnant," she said. "You might want to save it."
And so I did save it. Just like the pregnancy test is sitting on top of the bathroom counter, it is sitting on top of the tallboy, wrapped in funky polkadot paper.
But will I be able to open it on Tuesday?
