Frightful Conformity

Thank you so very much for all the hand-holding, finger-holding, toe-holding, tea-making, wheelbarrow-bringing and shoulder massage. I’m in the middle of it all somewhere, feeling loved.

I trudged up the stairs last night, laden with cold and feeling strangely calm about it all before immediately receiving a jab in the solar plexus when I went to the loo; there was a fair amount of pink staining, which had turned brown by this morning and is continuing. I am reasonably sure that this is emanating from Blair, not the pregnant Cameron, and could be something or nothing, but I have decided that it bodes, nevertheless.

The lovely Thalia, who has kindly rescued me from embarrassing myself with science before now, sensibly asked how I can differentiate between the two.

My didelphys is fairly pronounced: my uteri are more polarised than the two shown lined up neatly side by side in the above picture; they are tilted further outwards. (Rookie wand monkeys struggle horribly.) They are entirely unmistakable in terms of identifying which one is complaining – they seldom kick off badly, together, as it happens. When they do, I am completely pole-axed by it.

It was probably 3 or 4 days ago when I first experienced a quite distinct and familiar cramp in Cameron, my right uterus. I can’t fully describe it, but it’s the 5th time I’ve had it, and I’ve been pregnant every time. I managed to ignore the sensation for a day or so, but a particularly insistent twinge at bedtime led me to rummage around for a pregnancy test. I wasn’t expecting a positive, and left it on the side of the bath pretty casually. When I next glanced at it, I mentally remarked on the evaporation line that had appeared. By the time I had finished faffing about at the sink, I had absent-mindedly put together that one doesn’t GET evaporation lines until the things are DRY.

I suddenly hunched over the darkening thing, eyes wide in horror, before erupting out of the bathroom, expostulating loudly. I thrust the peestick at John and flounced back into the bathroom – possibly in order to re-enter the pre-test reality if possible. I have a peculiarly vivid memory of John, who was dozing peacefully when I burst back into the bedroom, holding the test under the lamp and peering closely at it in bemusement whilst being at least half asleep still.

I’ve felt particularly hormonal this last week or so, and I knew from charting LH surges that a period was due, but hadn’t turned up yet. Neither of these factors are odd in themselves, and hadn’t factored themselves properly into my brain until after I had tested, whereupon I realised it was all in frightful conformity.

Cameron was definitely the twinge-ee alright, for a good few days.

Of course, Blair has now started cramping like a git – hence the staining. I have No Idea what this means, and there is No Way of foretelling. I can’t be faffed with all the quantitive beta stuff: it’ll either be, or it won’t. I have a scan pencilled in next Tuesday.

And now I am off out to a restaurant, where I will be required to Smile and Talk.

Arse.

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